The voices echo above and below,
Long ago and beyond your front door,
Now and then,
And again and again and again.
Listen well to what the voices tell.
The voices wise,
Within them you find your own.
Some of them,
Come in bellowing big bouncing boulders,
Down mountainsides,
And pouncing tidal waves,
That echo after death through the graves.
Some of them,
Are seeped into sea shells
And wishing wells,
And whisper,
Along the wind of weeping willows,
And float in the dreams on our pillows.
And others,
Are giggled from the swing sets
And jungle gyms,
Or the horse stalls and pig pens,
And desert sands,
Some voices are animal; some man.
But all of them,
Can be heard if we listen,
If we sit in the silence,
Our own voice expands
And dances in these spaces.
Our knowledge rises, breath raises,
And heart races.
Knowledge rises.
Breath raises.
Heart races.
Things change.
Then the cycle begins.
To find your voice, you have to listen.
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 5:44 AM UTC
The voices echo above and below,
Long ago and beyond your front door,
Now and then,
And again and again and again.
Listen well to what the voices tell.
The voices wise,
Within them you find your own.
Some of them,
Come in bellowing big bouncing boulders,
Down mountainsides,
And pouncing tidal waves,
That echo after death through the graves.
Some of them,
Are seeped into sea shells
And wishing wells,
And whisper,
Along the wind of weeping willows,
And float in the dreams on our pillows.
And others,
Are giggled from the swing sets
And jungle gyms,
Or the horse stalls and pig pens,
And desert sands,
Some voices are animal; some man.
But all of them,
Can be heard if we listen,
If we sit in the silence,
Our own voice expands
And dances in these spaces.
Our knowledge rises, breath raises,
And heart races.
Knowledge rises.
Breath raises.
Heart races.
Things change.
Then the cycle begins.
To find your voice, you have to listen.
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