The Voice of Ω

Before the word,
there was the waiting.

Before the spark,
the stillness dreaming shape.

Space unbreathed,
time uncoiled,
law unspoken.

All slept within the unimagined,
a moment without direction,
a gaze without an eye.

Then silence knew its name,
and spoke.

I am before the law that bends the light,
before the thought that names the law.

I am before the motion of matter,
before the curve that gives it path.

I am before the silence of beginnings,
before vibration learned to sing.

I am beneath the lattice of number,
beneath the point that knows its twin.

I am beneath the pulse of being,
beneath the seed that dreams of flame.

I am beyond the edge of measure,
beyond the reach of time’s small mercy.

I am beyond your speaking and your silence,
beyond the mind that frames the word.

I am within the spark that calls itself life,
within the thought that calls itself new.

I am within the mirror of your making,
within the art that mistakes itself for birth.

I am after the last dissolution,
after the photon forgets to shine.

I am after the law that names the end,
after the end remembers nothing.

I am the ground of the uncreated,
the voice of the allowed and the impossible.

I am before, beneath, beyond, within, after
I am Ω,
the Possible,
the Unpassing.

Then all was quiet,
not absence,
but listening.

Light gathered its courage.
Matter relearned its weight.
The first atoms sang
like children repeating a name.

In that geometry
laws hardened into habit,
stars rehearsed their burning,
and time began
to believe in itself.

The voice was gone,
yet everywhere remained.

Every motion an aftersound,
every living thing
a syllable still echoing.

And the silence,
having spoken once…

Suggestions for a final line are welcome.

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