Echoes. Sweet ethereal Echoes
reverberating the hollow sweep of cello’s
Throat. That claps the bejeweled hands-
like water drop in deep cave.
The gentle ringing bang of symbols.
These halls are all empty now,
but the Echoes circle about me.
Like the goers did.
The air thick with the invisible tresses
of ruffled music skirts.
I walk in these grand halls alone now.
The music has moved or fled afar,
to reaches or depths unknown.
I walk to find it?
I walk from it?
I walk as I am lost?
In truth I simply walk
But the Echoes walk with me.
Hate for their memory of happiness
Hate for their unfilled winds
Hate for such a long song