© TaeHun Yoon

The tale demands its gesture—
to leap into sound,
to tear from silence
the hours of forgetting.

You and I, cast back
into the womb of uncreated light,
where Spirit hovered,
and the Word was yet unspoken—
there we begin again.

A stone breaks the surface of stillness;
ripples remember Eden.
Nature, risen from her house of dust,
veils herself in dawn
and takes the name of Bride.

O breath of God—
restore the scattered syllables of being!
The false, weary from its own deception,
crumbles into grace.

What remains
is a whisper through the ash,
a pulse beneath the soil—
not the end,
but a resurrection
of all forgotten songs.

• 1975 & 2025