(Or is it Ichabod Crane)
The sun leaves traces of sadness on the walls
As it washes my soul of its past
I echo in the abyss of my future
Resonating the sound of your footsteps
If I could see into the sea
I would stare further
Into the depth of its blue
I kick with the joyous bounce of my energy
In concentric swirls of wanting
oona's looking glass 
The words in this poem seem like they have been etched in copper and put up for the world to admire. Language this strong deserves to be read. I kick with the joyous bounce of my energy/In concentric swirls of wanting. This is universal as is:
The sun leaves traces of sadness on the walls
As it washes my soul of its past
Good work, again.
Thank you!