a psalm for echoes



Echoes go round and round
And somehow or rather, we do hear them
When we do, we ignore them
But the echos are there.



They are the repurcussions of
Life, the searing pain of tragedy
the boisterous nature of better things
Love, the deep tendrils of Venus's touch
both joy and hurt that can mean,
we hear it, acknowledge it, yet leave it alone
People, the voices, lives, fingers they clutch
Eyes that see and noses that smell
City of countries, the apple of what we know



The sounds go round in echoes
the echoes go round and we do hear them
Round as a circle is round, as a wheel,
But somehow, while we do hear them
we do ignore them

btw... happy bday singapore
*waves a small spirit-made flag*