Echoes

For a lonely soul

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

Audio by Andrea 🌄 Please pay her a visit if you enjoyed her reading of my poem.

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In a world of hollow echoes, where the winter wind is bellows,
And the heart, a split and shallow vessel, stranded on the shore.
I had walked in silent mourning, every friendly gesture scorning,
For the bitter, biting warning of the years that came before—
Of the cold and cruel indifference that I’d worn in winter’s war;
Pallid, parched—evermore.

Then a hand, so light and fleeting, sent a pulse of pureness beating,
Through the mail of my misgiving, past the bolt upon the door.
Through the silence, soft descending, with a grace past all defending,
Like a radiant light descending on a long-abandoned floor—
Lifting up the weary wonder from the dark and dusty floor,
With a warmth unknown before.

I stood trembling, nearly weeping, while the ghosts I fed were sleeping,
At this harvest I was reaping from a field I did not sow.
Was it human? Was it spirit? For the lonely soul must fear it,
When a voice—I leaned to hear it—whispered soft and whispered low,
That the world is not a shadow, as the lonely come to know,
From the echoes—long ago.

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