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

David is a writer and blogger who enjoys creating literary expressions about everyday life. He is a published poet and currently doing reviews, creative writing, and storytelling. David's interests include narrating point-of-view scenarios, documenting non-fiction, and writing scripts for film and television. View all posts by David W. Jones