Hear me

I want to be heard. So I strain to shout as loudly as I can down through the valleys of time that has been my life. Only to have my own voice return to me as an echo reverberating off of the sheer walls of memory. Then silence. As dead as the grave. Who has heard my cry? Who has heard my plea? Only the birds who soar silently, aimlessly on the warm thermal currents high overhead.