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 hearts painful prayer
Grasping for air; twas deaf to all but one ear
And toil to prodigys lovely heirs

For it never was and never will be
But the dust that fell from the monarchs fleet
That learned to while with joy while it may, here & there
Returning, renewing all, as it hastens away
As thunder sounded realitys 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 voices 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 consciences 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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