Dark Aeons

by Z. M. Wilmot

  The spheres float endlessly through the empty infinite

  Never touching, never seeing

  Each protecting a life-soul-essence

  From the hungering dark outside

  But do the spheres seek ever to consider

  The thought-processes of their wards?

  For though the spheres have banished their solitude

  Have their wards so banished theirs?

  And if the wards have then banished their isolation

  Why is it then that they do sing?

  Why do their songs of pain and loss

  Echo in the vastness between

  Never heard by their own

  And listened to by only those who cannot hear?