Echoes 

Echoes.

A whistling sound, 

The roar of the crowd,

The quiet breeze,

The wind through the trees,

The rustle of the leaves,

The sound as my feet

Hit the pavement as I speed.

Running, Racing, Searching,

Pondering the vastness of the multiverse,

As I wander through my little universe.

A friendly hello,

A bombarding of voices as they pass me by,

Each with their own hellos

And sad goodbyes.

Their own universes.

Their own timelines.

Their own lives.

But still I hear the echoes,

Echoes of a world gone by,

A world that had hope and watched it die,

A world that killed its soul and then sprung alive,

And as though from a million miles

I hear them.

Their pains.

Their sorrows.

Their joys.

The gladness that abounds with no cares for tomorrow.

I hear the echoes.

The echoes that will carry us to a brighter day,

To a world that we hope our children will stay,

And hope that one day through the hustle and bustle of the life of tomorrow,

They’ll hear our echoes,

And ponder with hopes for an even better morrow.

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