Pitch Whisper.

Dusted across the great blackness
it sails silently, slumbering still
beating on gently, as a pitch whisper,
by void, by dimension and suns alike.

It is a warm sleep; untroubled, restful
as an eye deep within blinks once
and as energies, conspire and merge
clustered, across planes unphysical
muttering on to those who hear it’s call: 

Soon, soon my children: sss m’ort’eh txur.