I wake to echoes of the past, A whispered voice I’ve heard before, Footsteps falling, rhythms cast, These halls I've walked through open doors.
The sun it gleams with golden light, Yet feels too familiar in its glow, The laughter lingers in the night, Like melodies my soul has known.
Faces greet me, kind and warm, Yet I sense their words repeat, As if my soul has found its form, In moments looping, bittersweet.
Deja vu—a soft refrain, A story told yet lived again, I trace the edges, search in vain, For where the past and present blend.
Perhaps I walk a winding thread, Returning here to learn once more, A traveler with a fate unread, Yet knowing—I’ve lived this life before.
The wind speaks in whispers I’ve heard before, soft murmurs folded in time. The moon winks as if it knows my name, as if it has seen me rise, and fall, and rise again.
Each footstep finds its echo, each breath unravels memories lost. Was I here in another hour, another day, another age? Did I stand at this line, hesitating just the same?
The river hums a song I already know, its rhythm carved into my bones. And in its reflection, I glimpse a face— mine, yet distant, and almost unknown.
A cycle unbroken, a path retread. I walk not forward, but in return— A quiet knowing in my veins, A silent truth:
I have been,
I will be again.
