Poem Hunter
HH (12/14/1974 / Siloam Spirings, AR)


Poem By Heath Harrington

Do you hear the voices?
I do.
They echo from concrete walls.
Where are they from?
Are they made by You?
A dull drone of activity.
Like sea shells on my ears,
the muffled roar of the ocean
reminds me of the voices.
Its nothing new,
they have always been there
a distant drum which
I march to.

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Comments (1)

it's always good to march to the beat of your own drum....