There is an echo
on my internal voice.
Every question I ask
bounces back.
No choice.
Crossed the line.
Thinking all would be fine.
A pantomime.
Question time.
So the sound rebounds.
Like in the haunted tunnels
at the fairgrounds.
The answer compounds.
Intensified and true.
A chance to renew.
Seek and ye shall find.
An aligned and just mind.
I wonder aloud.
Head cowed and bowed.
Afraid of the truth.
Like a hesitant sleuth.
Until the remedy arrives.
From the historic archives.
That no thought once set free.
Can ever harm me.
Echoes
thejrpc 