Echo

The past reflects back in ruins
without substance to uphold
I look into its reservoirs for guidance
but my vision scatters as I fall into ruin
Not a kind word has been left untarnished at the hands of sweeping time
Now it does not matter
Beside or below these lines are nothing.
And my pen whimsically dashes round the corners, taking no heed of the hand supporting it
This sadness I have to suppress
for the untold words could not but repress
once they lost any meaning of progress
for the wishes of its vessel fell into regress.
Going out of control
only with charming flashes of showy ink
May it grow into a prayer
and fold in its humble glory
for The Lord to witness it
and perhaps lift it up the sky in discreet adornment
as a star's fading glow, perhaps
might sign it with the certainty of fulfillment.