Echoes
 
Like the white light of stillness
To an imperceptive ear,
Or the echoes of creation
Only telescopes can hear,
 
After end times, and before
Time after time began,
From the other side of nothing
With the voice of more than man,
 
Come syllables that whisper free
Beyond the cage of thought,
A knowing beyond knowing,
Of things by time forgot,
 
Speaking naught of life we knew,
Poor, sad nostalgia’s art,
Confiding quiet tiding
To the tired hopeful heart.