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

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, 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.