Echoes reverberating, resonating
Waves cresting, dissipating
Triggering wedges of memory
Sunk deep in the crevices
Unfathomable recesses
Of my psyche, alter ego

Irrational feelings rear heads
Déjà vu, dislike, love, attraction
Genderless, making their presence
Felt keenly, though all inexplicable
What birthed such echoes in these
Desolate valleys of my ruggedness

Triggers triggering arrows
Twanged out of bows of time
Past, present or future, unknown
All hinge on their existing and
Happening in the current moment

Echoes confusing, enthusing
Echoes, familiar yet unknown
Bewildering, refreshing, warming
Goose bumps giving, scaring
All echoing in the deep crevices
Of my being. head, soul n spirit

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance. . . . .
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.
Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline

How sweet the answer Echo makes To music at night, When, roused by lute or horn,she wakes,
And far away, o’er lawns and lakes, Goes answering light. -Author: Thomas Moore, Echo

And more than echoes talk along the walls.
Author: Alexander Pope, Source: Eloisa to Abelard

I came to the place of my birth and cried: “The friends of my youth, where are they?”–
and an echo answered, “Where are they?” Samuel Rogers, quoted from an Arabic manuscript

But her voice is still living immortal, The same you have frequently heard, In your rambles
in valleys and forests, Repeating your ultimate word. Author: J.G. Saxe, The Story of Echo


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