Dicey  

I’ve become more keenly aware

Of my present footsteps these days

The sound they make in transition

And even their ephemeral echoes

Which to me, speaks in multivolume

Randomly I ask those odd questions

To where do echoes flee to and land?

Is it always to some familiar place?     

What happens after they arrive there?

Might it be where unheard whispers go?  

And if so, do echoes and whispers die?

Or might they remain adrift- waiting?

Perhaps to return to origins of silence?

For me, our life is…a walk over thin ice

.   

 Poet of the Light © 2021

11 thoughts on “Dicey  

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