Poem: Echoes of the Past
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.