The Voice (Poetry)

The voice came out of nowhere
cutting through soft bands of sleep
clear, yet strangely hollow as a bell
across unfathomed distance —
Time’s dark valleys wide and deep —
it sounded once its poignant, simple knell.

Not quite awake, but still it touched
a sympathetic nerve
that recognised — responded to the tone
and memory fought to recall
from just a single word
who called me from some psychic interzone.

It would be easy to suppose
imagination played
an auditory trick — it was a dream —
but why was I made so alert? —
heart suddenly so quick?
Such doubt could not undo how real it seemed ...

I’ve waited — concentrated hard
in hope to hear again
the voice that has me aching for a clue —
anything to pin it down —
attach a face or name
and satisfy the haunting Why? and Who?

No answers in the hushful dawn
intrude on drowsy thought
with echoes from the land of Long-ago.
Just an enigmatic silence
stretching where a wish hangs caught
in the wake of her unsettling
                                        “Hell- o? ...”