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.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  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.