As the echoes of my shout faded,
I felt walls of shame softening.
I am glad that they are making a silent retreat.

The book I write has echoes too.
Each word or stroke,
each page and chapter
all begin to seem loud again.

The days come and go
Echoes rise and fall like the shifting tides.

I choose to hear the echoes smiling.

W. Wayne B.

© 2012 W. Wayne B.

About William Wayne Smith

I'm a poet, library fan and maker.
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