The echos,
they are children,
descendents
aging and
whispering
to the end.
My children
leap from
my open mouth
crawl in between
my teeth
and lips,
to find age
and spirits
dust
and time.
My children,
though I cannot see,
I hear and feel
and know!
They have found
caves and
tunnels,
barriers to
mount and bridges
to cross,
for my children,
my eternal echos
know no
boundries
only life
and death.
Author notes
If you've never listened to Paul Horn inside the Taj Mahal, you are missing out. I was listening to him at the time of this poem. Amazing stuff.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
I love your poems. They just..wow me.
Adding your comment:
