The Echo That Remains

To speak a line of truth so pure not wrapped in pride, nor trimmed with fear,
but rising from that inner core
where silence listens, bright and clear.

Not forged for praise, nor built to last,
but breathed as though from ancient flame—
a word so just, so free of mask,
it does not cling to speaker’s name.

It ripples out through years to come,
a bell that rings though hand is gone,
a seed that blooms in stranger’s tongue,
a dawn that breaks in minds unborn.

The body fades. The voice grows still.
But what is pure will not decay.
Truth walks unshaken through the hill,
and echoes on when bones give way.

So speak it now, while breath is near.
A line of light. A word sincere.
And leave the hush behind your name
to carry forth the holy flame.