Childhood Echo Poem by Preston Simmons

Voices echoed through the hills,
Voices I know, including my own.
Our bike tires buzzed
along the dusty trails, dust saved for dusk
That we always disturbed.
I have never thought anything of it
Until now.

An echo is the ruins of a memory
Which makes its way
To the present.
Memories continually fade, as they bounce down the canyon of time.
I see qualities
From who I was a decade ago
Echo through to who I am now.

I faintly remember the times When the ice cream man was more popular
Than TV,
When ten 'o clock was late,
When
the dark streets were empty
And the neighbors yards
Were full.
The times when I went underwater
Or covered my eyes with my hands
And thought I was invisible.