Echoes

There are echoes
that never raise their voice,
only soften
everything that comes after.

A flower,
once turned toward the sun,
learns
to study the shadows instead.

Not because
the light disappeared, no...
but because
it remembers
how suddenly
day became night...

So now
it blooms carefully.
It smiles carefully.
It believes...
carefully... 

Some days,
a gentle breeze
still feels
like an approaching storm.

Some names
still ripple
across still water,
long after
the stone has sunk.

Yet even
a cracked mirror
can catch the dawn.

And perhaps
healing
is not forgetting
where the glass once broke,
but watching
the morning
return,
again
and again,
until one day
its light
becomes louder
than the echo. 

- Merry -