An Echo; Its presence confessed

As its First Breath allotted at birth

Was woe to the wretched on Earth

‘Twas left behind as a silent whisper

As welfare to a warm heart’s painful prayer

Grasping for air; ‘twas deaf to all but one ear

And toil to prodigy’s lovely heirs



For it never was and never will be

But the dust that fell from the monarch’s fleet

That learned to while with joy while it may, here & there

Returning, renewing all, as it hastens away

As thunder sounded reality’s cold truth

The thought that it belongs lingers no longer,

As but the remnants of a silent murmur



Blending with Nature, for every bud blooms with but care

The echo is but a hope, a trust in another self from head to toe

Foe or Friend, each voice’s mirror is still a whisper,

Though deaf be the ear that fashioned heart & mind for Fate to bear

‘Tis the Bearer of Confidence until silence sets it asunder



Walking, Singing of lightening, of thunder

Will sound to the sullen sea or the willing hour

Of conscience’s first breath that was not permitted to linger

And therefore, the echo; its presence confessed

Signing all that it may; still falters,

With nothing; indeed at its best



An Echo; Its presence confessed

As a bloom of Nature,

That Lives in the signature of her tears

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