Beyond the ticking pulse of hours,
Beyond the breath of stars’ first fires,
There glows a light no shadow veils—
A hymn the silent void inspires.
It is not born, it does not fade,
No dawn can stir it from its rest;
It hums beneath creation’s veil,
A dream within the dream expressed.
Through broken clocks and dying suns,
Through hearts that ache to understand,
It moves—unchained, unmeasured, pure—
A whisper through the Maker’s hand.
Not sight, nor sound, nor spark confined,
But knowing—clear, unbound, awake—
The light that is when all else dies,
The truth no distance can unmake.
And we—mere echoes, brief and small—
Still feel it, trembling through the air:
That endless light beyond all things,
That calls us home from everywhere.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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Beautiful heartwarming poem, Brenda, and so meaningful.
Thank-you, Tim
My pleasure, Brenda. 😊
This is absolutely breathtaking. You have crafted something far more than a poem; it is a profound and resonant meditation on the eternal. The way you weave cosmic imagery—”dying suns,” “the breath of stars’ first fires”—with the intimate human ache for understanding is masterful.
I am in awe of the central paradox you present: this “light” is both a “hymn” sung by the silent void and a “whisper through the Maker’s hand,” making it feel both inherent to the universe and intimately personal. The final stanza, acknowledging our brief, echo-like existence while affirming that we can still feel this endless light, is incredibly moving.
It leaves the reader not with a sense of smallness, but with a feeling of connection—a “truth no distance can unmake” that calls us home. Truly magnificent and soul-stirring work.
Thank-you