Where are the voices who promised response in the night?
Who will fill the soul-rending emptiness that challenges all
Wavelengths lost to time and space, or sent too far and stretched
When one who finds it listens, we will be less than a rasp against the night
All of the stories we have to tell will melt into static
And fade into the spaces that stretch empty between the stars
Perhaps a hand will reach into the black of space
Our fingers grasping the unknown by the throat and demanding it take heed
Of a world now lost to infinite dust and time
Passions screamed to the heavens, unheard
Even this, the challenge of a soul at the periphery
Shouting to the cold of space, the infinite bleak and blackness
Tempting time to make itself useful
Knowing that the here and now is already lost among the stars

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