I stand before the early morning light, squinting, to see the hope promised on the horizon. Shadows from the pillars of salt behind me; a multitude of errors seeking my attention.  All the fallen stars buried beneath the empty wishes; their tombs unmarked and broken from the heft of promises.  The black rose I carried tightly within my palm has died from suffocation.  I’m afraid to let it go, hoping it can be resuscitated.

Published by David W. Jones

Writer. Artist. Sleepless Blogger. Wrestling junkie. Comic-Book Nerd. Every moment is a story View all posts by David W. Jones