There Are Echoes Poem by Mark Heathcote

There are echoes.
Echoes amongst echoes—don't register.
And as of yet, do not travel nearly as far.
And yet, you say they are not as audible.
And yet, they are deafening to my ear.
Not without penetration to my heart and soul.
There are echoes.
There are echoes, dear.
Echoes amongst echoes—that have danced
And cartwheel through the valleys,
Done! Climb to the highest mountain summit.
But on reflection, they are still embedded in stone.
Striking against something impenetrable
Like finding there's no love again in your home.