Fading Reverbations

Echoes of pasts follow me here.
Distorted, those lives no longer seem clear.
I

find hope in myself from hearing these sounds 
but
what once were explosions have morphed into clouds.

Formed into something... new yet the same,

like a message in ink soaked wet from the rain.
Soaked by the time and people who've passed
so far from that place;
a silencing blast.

Or blow, or wound, it rots all the same,
still sound rings the hopes of the last dying flame.

Reviews

[Matching Socks]

Good job with this one too.
Thumbs up.