The names of wishes


    were given to her,


    and she dances,


    giving movement


    and meaning


    to the words


    echoing in the


    the silent spaces


    of our hearts.


    The throne-room red,


    filled with fire and fury


    lit with braziers


    that cast her shadows


    on the walls and the floor,


    a mad dance to echo


    the desires of the people


    she leads.


    The wrathful season


    swells with tears shed


    in the bygone yesterdays


    lost in the endless silence


    of love and loss.


    See now


    the captured wishes


    held fast in


    the lazy regard


    of an angel


    standing at the cusp of dawn


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.awaiting the coming downfall.


    The people cry out to her


    to dance their pain away


    to dance their hopes


    into being.


    A war-torn emptiness


    rages through them


    like a storm,


    orphaned horror born


    of grief, terror


    of what the morrow might bring.


    “Dance for us,”


    they cry,


    scalded by grief,


    by passion,


    lost in the madness


    of living, the ennui


    of the endless


    day-to-day


    nothings.


    Mad pain


    born of endless failure


    dreams


    sinking into the oblivion


    of quiet despair.


    "Dance for us,"


    they scream,


    their voices ragged


    and hollow.


    “Dance for us,


    Queen of the Red!”


    She dances


    as she always has,


    then comes to a stop,


    standing in the silence.


    Unseen to all,


    tears falls


    from her eyes,


    because


    for all their wishes


    and sorrow,


    for all their passion


    and hope,


    She knows that


    these are people


    longing


    to long


    no more.