The Echo

Precision and clarity will not be the mark of this speech.

For I am bound beneath grey skies

And stared at by stiffened, stark, bark covered limbs. The tension so palpable

They seem likely to snap at every slight shift in the already listless breeze.

These days have cast their spell upon me;  now

The unsightly details glare in this matte silver light.

While colors lose their power  – washed out and dimmed.

They do not leap from the walls, splashing viewers

Tempting them to wade in their pixilated, pulsing, surging stream.

Instead, they have receded and remain fixed in framed compositions.

Dormant and isolated in space.

I keep hearing the echo,

Following it from room to room –  

Up the stairs and down the long hall.

On a circuit, but not pacing.

I have the time to stop,

Pause…

Perk up my ears,

Re-discover some

Precious few moment’s worth of comfort:

Standing alone and without fear,

Softly breathing , listening to the world speak.