Echo

Heavy hush, polished floor beneath my shoes
White marble rises on all sides, breathing cold
Framed faces frown in gilt and shadowed light
My footfalls swallowed by giant rooms of air


These hollow halls echo my steps
Every step an answer, every pause a question
Paintings watch me, silent and still
I'm seen in silence, kept in glass
These hollow halls echo my steps


Benches empty, velvet ropes untouched
My voice, if I dared, would rattle the bones here
I read the plaques, but find no comfort in dates
Lost, looking for some warmth across bronze and stone
A carved hand outstretched, but never meeting mine
Midnight stains the gallery, and I walk on


Canvas faces stare, they ask nothing, reveal less—
Every portrait pressed in pigment, hail and hush of years,
History trapped, looking with eyes that saw too much
My tether to the past: a smear of oil, a drip of paint
I count the cracks in ceiling frescos, all my hours poured in lines,
Thinking if I stand still, I might join their company.
I remember laughter lifted in the court of marble gods,
Now the laughter gone, but this echo won't let go—
Docent once told me the granite keeps secrets inside,
I believe him now, as my secrets turn to stone.
Statues with lips parted, always almost saying something,
But I’m the only one who gives a sound—
it bounces off the ceiling, returns to me familiar:
Just my step, just my breath, just a whisper of fabric,
Here I am, tracing paths between the memories,
Between the moments I wish I could hang like a frame.


These hollow halls echo my steps
Every step an answer, every pause a question
Paintings watch me, silent and still
I'm seen in silence, kept in glass
These hollow halls echo my steps