Echo


echo

I wonder what kind of print I’ll leave on the world.

What pebble I might cast in to that vast ocean of mundanity which may outlast the one thrown before it.

What glass will my fingerprints be left on? Where will my final pencil shaving fall?

Will the final place my feet stand upon be important?

Water will ripple. Glass can break.

An echo may be sung.

I wonder what kind of print I’ll leave on the world.

This earth: a restless daydreamer.

This world that we see constantly worsening and bettering itself, forced in to man-made changes as well as growing independently, making compromises that it could not have foreseen.

In an ever-changing, moving, speaking world why listen to an echo?

Because an echo is not the same as Chinese Whispers.

I wonder what kind of print I’ll leave on the world.

If any.


 

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