Recently I wrote a short creative piece called “Echobox” that is part poetry, part realistic fiction and part fantasy, which explored through eyes of a young boy people’s interactions with video media, specifically television. It reminded me of a poem I wrote nigh on ten years ago, called “Narcissus.” The poem was intended to be read while listening to a selection of music played on a solo instrument. It was part of a cycle of similar pieces I performed called, “Solipsist.” This particular part of the cycle was intended for string bass, an instrument I played in my younger days but have since given up. The studio recording for this poem/music piece was, alas, lost when the laptop I used for recording suddenly ceased to operate. As such, the Solipsist album remains incomplete, with the only live performance having been recorded by a third party at extremely low fidelity and volume. In the near future (once I replace some failed studio equipment) I may reconstruct and re-record the music. For now, here is the poem.


That weeping echo
Lost by the water’s edge
A pale thing never heard
Except in echo
Poor weeping echo
Left forgotten,
Never known.
To peer into the cool pond
To forget man, woman,
And god (Poor echo!)
At the beckoning of Nemesis
I crept over the mossy bank
And saw peering back at me
Like a vision of poor echo’s lament
Not the beauty she sought,
But a monster!
Vicious, ugly, tormenting.
Eyes turned inward
Scowling, raging, forgetting.
Nemesis of my Nemesis.
Poor echo!
How did she come to love
One such as this, or
Did she love another,
Who came before this horrid creature?
I reach out to kill it
To end its misery and the misery it inspires
And shall make it a monument
In remembrance of horror.
As we remember
Poor weeping echo
Left forgotten,

Never known.

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