You hear your voice
Rolling in like thunder
The sound returning home
Like that cat you thought lost
Appearing at your door
Looking innocent and bereaved.
You shout to the sky
and it comes back to you
Bouncing off the horizon
Like a distant bell saying
That you exist
And not a static piece
Wearily playing some regal game.
Memory can be like that echo
At once a real thing
Yet also a dream half-remembered
In the misty morning;
Wondering if lessons learned
Settle in for the winter
The second time around.
whoisfenton 