Poem: Echoes of the Past

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Do you believe
in footsteps in the night?
Voices caught
midway in conversation
an echo of times past
The walls can speak
the windows can see
the cries of mothers
the gasps of lovers
Lights flicker
drift in search of their beacon
in a room no longer familiar.
Cold fingers caress your cheek
blow across your skin
want to tell their story
make sure justice is done
Footsteps along a lonely path
doomed to retrace steps
over and over like a recording.
Whether you acknowledge it
spaces have witnessed
and scenery will talk.

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