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.

Bleak

She killed a part of herself that day.
The most important part.
She hadn’t realized she had done it
’til she couldn’t feel with her heart.

She killed a part of herself that day.
The part filled with wonder;
Hopes and dreams and promises unspoken,
Not one remained for plunder.

She killed a part of herself that day.
The part she loved the most.
It took her to the most magical places;
Joy and happiness weren’t distant faces.

She killed a part of herself that day.
The world was bleak,
For the part that made fantasy her reality 
Was swept away by the storms’ wind.

She killed a part of herself that day.
But the question still remained:
In the darkness that suffocates and binds,
Will she revive that part if she had the chance?