The empty space,
In which the shadows sleep.
In which the breath of fishes lies,
To be awoken at the end of time.

Where silence is a sound,
And empty space can be consoled,
To fill it's blank, blank emptiness,
With the joy of glorious nothing.

Where moonbeams can be caught,
And waves can be pinned upon the shore,
Where darkness can be bottled,
And rainbows distilled to paints.

Where sounds are never heard,
And empty words are left to rest,
Where forgotten feelings, thoughts and dreams,
Can find their consolation.

Ah, yes, we should respect this,
And think once more of the silence,
And everlasting tranquillity,
Of glorious, infinite, nothing.