Echoes

All I’ve known
I now know no longer.
I long for the
Whispering hints of remnants
Creaking through these old bones,
The clarity fading with decaying memories
While the only monuments
That haven’t crumbled
Are the weathered lines
Etched on my face
Branching out like dried up streams;
A winding open grave of sun-scorched limestone
Lying lifeless
Listening to the withered roots below
Tell tales of old
Of melting snow
Flowing from distant storms.

The thunder rumbles in the distance,
But even the echoes are welcome now.