The Storm Between Voices

Before the voice, the hissing came,
A restless sea of broken sound;
It swept through every waiting ear,
Though speaker, wire, and dial were found.
Each promised word began to rise,
Then shattered into brittle spray;
A sentence reached for living form,
Then scattered through the empty way.

The waiting room of every thought
Filled slowly with that ceaseless tide;
It covered memory, hope, and fear,
Then pulled them all from side to side.
Each answer drifted close enough
To stir the longing deep inside;
Each vanished at the very breath
That should have turned the hidden guide.

A storm climbed softly through the sky,
Its charge alive in every field;
The waiting earth grew sharp and tense,
As though a secret stayed concealed.
The hissing gathered in the grass,
Along the fence, across the stream;
The whole wide countryside became
A half-remembered, broken dream.

Old voices wandered through the noise,
Each calling from another place;
One sounded near, another far,
Each fading ere it found a face.
Their laughter broke in sudden bursts,
Their sorrow drifted into rain;
The heart reached out to gather them,
Then met the crackling once again.

Long years have passed, yet still I hear
That living tide between all things;
It waits before the thunder speaks,
Before the morning blackbird sings.
It lives between two faithful hearts,
Between farewell and glad return;
Between the words we long to keep,
And all we never truly learn.
Static remains where longing dwells,
A broken bridge from soul to soul;
Forever seeking one clear voice,
Forever yearning to be whole.