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Colm May 2019
Like a ripple...
Spreads the inner arrogant statements of self
Which you'd never tell someone else
Because even sounding them out sounds loud
But you believe in them still
In the quiet subconsciousness of self
Like the echoings of an inner cavern
There is something there
Because something that once cast shadows fell
The sun it rises slowly as you walk...
there are days i long for
the allure of philosophy.
writing.
a less personal affair,
but only to a degree.

rather than what i do.

such responsibility, to hold
another's fragile mental
stability within the palm
of my hand!

i am no healer, i do not
offer cures. no. the
gravitation i hold
is simply an

   e  
        c    
             h
                  o

of everything
which shall always
be nothing more than
the reverberation of my soul.

i am not a poet.
my mother tongue is not
within clever word
play or meter.

i speak the words of the
effervescent
cosmic tapestry
within the singing
of the spheres.

there is a quiet history in
that celestial symphony,
an Edda of instrumental
humming all that
was and shall be.
saturday, january 5th, 2019.

© kalica calliope.
Ginger R Jun 2018
Someone help me
Help the world
These people, stop them
They're tearing it apart

Someone help me
Help the world
It's falling down
Can't you feel it

Someone help me
Help the world
The echos of a failure
Ring louder ev'ry day

Someone help me
Help the world
Nothing can stand if there's nothing holding it up.
Venice Oaper May 2018
Walang forever sa taong bitter
Pero pano ka naman di ma bbitter
Kung yung ex mo kasi cheater

Sa una lang magaling
Susundin lahat ng hiling
Kala mo naman gwapo. FEELING!

Chos. Gwapo nga siya
Kaya nga lapitin ng disgrasya
Ubos ang pera sa’king alkansya

Ginagasta pang dota niya
Pati sa ibang babae. Walanghiya!
Susumbong ko siya kay kuya.

Minahal ko yun nang todo
Matalino ako pero naging bobo
Ang dali niya pala akong naloko

Siya pa nakipaghiwalay
Sa chat pa. Jusq dai!
Walang itlog ka bai.
Echos lang. Hindi hango sa totoong buhay.
Becky Littmann Jun 2017
He let them win
Somehow their repetitive chatter & noise crept right in
Quietly & unseen they anchored their lies & fabrications
Truths were quickly fading into arguments & altercations
In his head their noise just echos & echos in a shout
He battled & fought, but it wasn't well enough to keep them out
The echos only got louder & louder
More & more he began to doubt her
Thoughts began dwelling
The echos were now just yelling
Hoping truth he'd soon forget
& Trusting was something he'd always just regret

Proud of what they've done
The echos thought they've won
But his thoughts weren't able to convince his heart & soul
He knew without her, he would never be whole
Feelings, really now, this time they were true & real... truly not a chance to break
& As for the echos.....well they were just a silented mistake
Vexren4000 Dec 2016
Echoes of rumors and fables,
From aged sages of Roman republics.
To broken fractured tribes tribes
Long disbanded and forgotten.
Technology and secrets lost to the tide of time,
Discoveries left to forever rot,
Left in cold isolation.

©BAS
Liam C Calhoun Nov 2016
I hope that the
Bread
Tastes good,
Because I’ve left my
Bones
In “it.”

I’ve left the bones born
Man
And bones born
Woman,
Bones once a baby
And bones now broken,
Bones bitter,
Bones bled,
And soon bits baked
Only by dust,
In “it.”

I hope that it
All
Tastes great,
Because we’ve all chained our
Souls
To “it;”

And “it” will continue to feast,
Come the hours we’d ‘ever starve,
“It” will continue to oppress
And until we say “no!”
So say, "NO!"
Sean Hunt Jan 2016
Where
Does the echo
Come from
And
Where
Does it go?
aar505n Oct 2015
The sound of feet is isolated in the tunnel.
Echoes of the slow steps of many fill the narrow space.
We march in silence.
Alone among the many.
We do this odd ambitious walk twice daily.
Twice daily this space is filled with the sound of the travelers and the workers.
And what about the times that betwixt the twice daily commute?
An ambiance like no other.
A roaring silence.
For those who have march here
They leave behind an echo,
an imprint of sort.
More ghostly than any ghost.
Haunting these tunnels with their essence
When the sound of feet is not present.
I like my train stations
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