In the hidden corners of the mind, some echoes rest,
A gentle hand can set them to the test.
They drift away, like morning mist,
Leaving behind a calm, unclenched fist.

Yet some echoes stay, with roots that bind,
In the still of night, they trouble the mind.
For these, we need a deeper cure,
To cleanse the soul, to feel secure.

And then are echoes, dark and deep,
We must cut loose, no more to keep.
Erase their trace, let them disappear,
So their whispers no longer reach our ear.

In life's quiet flow, pure and wide,
We chart these echoes with wisdom as our guide.
In the end, it's serenity we seek to defend,
Deciding which echoes to sever, which to mend.




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