A hush unfurls where dawn withdrew,
A murk enwound in sorrel hue.
Through riven seams of skyless sprawl,
A phantom breath still heeds the call.

No chime remains, no echoed chord,
Yet something stirs—unnamed, untoward.
A muttered hymn, a fractured verse,
A shadowed pulse in cosmic hearse.

Who carved these glyphs in tattered dusk?
Who laced the void in voiceless musk?
For even silence, thick and deep,
Still writhes beneath what shadows keep.

And though the stars have fled their keep,
A whisper twists where none may weep.
For echoes, spun in unseen thread,
Still voice the words the lost once said.