There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen.
It whispers in the rustle of leaves,
In the pause between a heartbeat,
In the quiet hum of dawn before the world awakens.

It's a song that stirs the soul,
Soft as the breath of a sleeping child,
Yet vast as the ocean's endless call.

This voice is ancient, older than time,
Born from the stars and the dust of the earth.
It carries the wisdom of ages untold,
A knowing beyond the clamour of thought.

A truth that lives beneath the surface,
Of all that we see, and all we pretend to know.
It speaks in the dance of the wind,
In the stillness of twilight.

When the day sighs into night,
And shadows stretch long across the land.
It is in the eyes of the old and the innocent,
In the spaces between the lines of a love letter,
Or the quiet ache of a heart mending slowly.

This voice cannot be grasped,
It cannot be chased or claimed.
It comes when the mind is silent,
When the heart surrenders its restlessness.

It rises in the moments when you are,
No longer seeking, but simply being.
When the soul listens with more than ears,
For there are languages older than words.

Songs written in the pulse of life itself,
And if you listen, truly listen;
You will hear it: the voice of the universe,
Calling you home.
To a place where words fall away,
And all that remains is knowing.