She dances in front


    of the old church


    a ruined steeple,


    overtaken by


    the creeping forest,


    half drowned by the rains.


    There’s an old name


    and a dying wish


    beating in a chamber of bone,


    in a prison of flesh and sinew.


    Someone spoke there,


    and something listened


    until it didn’t


    anymore.


    My hopes


    are nothing but


    little red words,


    writhing and contorting


    like serpents devouring


    each other


    in a frenzy


    of survival and death.


    I look on in horror,


    but she sings


    a song of comfort,


    bringing peace to


    a heart


    soaked in exile.


    ''One dream,'' she says


    ''Just one. That''s all you need.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.Live on and dream.


    Start now.


    Begin again.


    And if you fail,''


    she said,


    ''weep, but try again.''


    With every ending


    a new beginning.


    A journey


    with a thousand starts


    but no end


    until we admit


    that we can go


    no further.


    Live and die


    with these beginnings


    these endings,


    and endure


    the ''almost-theres''


    and the ''never-weres.''


    Shatter the heart


    and rebuild it


    with wishes


    and hopes,


    a prayer for the future,


    as we wander


    so far from what we were


    to what we''re meant to be.


    Together we sing


    a song of exile


    of bitter defeats,


    of quiet determination,


    to live,


    to dream.


    This is where we begin:


    Embrace the emptiness


    the silence


    the blank page


    the wordless song,


    the muse whispering


    sweet nothings


    of inspiration.


    She feels like a melody,


    ever gentler


    when I hold her.


    Our music is sad,


    but needed.