Echo was written in quatrains to lull the reader into a familiar rhythm, painting grief in steady strokes, only to twist the final stanza into something quietly devastating.
At the end of the day
When the kids are in bed
Thoughts come rushing
Flooding my head
The weight of her silence
Heavy and dreary
My friend my confidant
I miss so dearly
At the end of the day
When nothings been said
An echo remains
Where souls once fed
Body so tired
Brain feels like mush
The echo grows louder
Impossible to hush
I slowly drift off
While tossing and turning
Slipping further away
Longing yearning
Awakening so still
From restless slumber
Head filled with good morning
And more words of wonder
I race to my phone
But suddenly remember
She's not there
I'm forced to surrender
So you see how hard
The night has become
Pales in comparison
To the morning's sun