These are voices on the margins.
But they are central to us all, in a very real sense.

Echoes In Truth


It is a magazine of sincerity, honesty, truth and fulness.

Enjoy some snippets here below …


From Dianna Henning 


Sometimes it’s so subtle

It’s mistaken for something else.

A moth tumbled from night’s porch light

A stone in the heel of your shoe.

Even a tattered corner of sunshine is better

Than believing it’s never found.

Didn’t the widow, stripped in grief

Reveal pure angle of cheek bone—

Hadn’t she, at last, set her face free?

You’d gladly peel off that expression

Smooth it down over your own years

The radiant tucked behind ears.

Under some circumstances

Beauty is mistaken for grief.

But in the widow’s case, the opposite—

A face so clear it revealed her soul—

Enlargement emerging from loss.

The moth was a small god on the porch

The stone, nugget of an angel.



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