Echoes in the Mind


Long ago in the dusts of time,
swirling in winds still hot from the Big Bang,
a lonely sad child scrawled and rhymed
and abstractly threw together
the wanderings of his mind

A young man, the world too, still young,
still alone and frightened,
searched for meaning, for reasons to be
and scribbled verse and prose
and hid it out of sight

Older now and time wearies,
the body aching, the heart,
mind and soul aching yet more
the pen is still, he writes no longer;
his thoughts instead consuming him.

He stretches and grows and yearns,
for freedom, for contentment
and suddenly at the behest of others
he writes again, he writes and writes
and they applaud, they ask for more.

Alone still, yet in contentment,
the voice within is never still,
friends write with him,
he shares, he hopes, he dreams
and reads and calls it…


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