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Weekly Contest #340
There’s a story the stars guard within their bright light, blinding you to its existence far before your time. It strings together the gold and silver to light a vow made for forever, to rot forever. It starts as the sun sinks, its strings of color dying, giving way to the black to blanket your home.We were a story, and our story ended unfulfilled, like many others akin to ours.When the stars birthed our vows to keep your silver tied to my gold, I knew only a sinking heaviness dragging at my heart, of treachery woven into the minds of our fe...
Weekly Contest #339
In the grey twilight, I see a figure of ethereal beauty wandering beneath trees painted silver by starlight. Her steps are light, her movements imbued with the grace of a quiet ripple beneath water’s surface. Mist wraps her in a cloak woven of starlight. At her feet, a carpet of peach blossoms muffles the sound of her approach, their scent mingling with the cool air in a fragrant whisper of coming spring. Her presence seems to me a dream unlooked for.Time makes fools of us all.It tricks the heart, makes it believe it has healed, each year an...
Weekly Contest #330
Born not to you, nor yours alike, a seldom-seen spirit roams the castle in the dead of night. Rough, cobblestoned walls and sturdy armored guards did not stop the wild nature of a child and the spirit from wreaking havoc upon the old castle. The castle’s weary walls laughed at their juvenile antics as its residents watched in confusion, wondering who the young heir was talking to. Paying no heed to the foolishness and dismissing it as the vast imagination of youth, they let the two be, happy to let the prince have his fun. The two in questio...
Weekly Contest #331
I wanted to write a song about the rain, but all I could think of was her last November, when we sprinted laughing through the downpour, the cobblestones glistening beneath the trees of our cherished field. Now, my tea has cooled. I only drink it to hold on to a fragment of the girl I loved—dandelion tea with a splash of milk, the way she took it. Outside, the rain has stopped, and my fingers hover over a blank page. The melodies in my head pivot and flee like elusive ghosts. Yesterday, someone asked me how songwriting was going. I could thi...
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