Story

Story of you and I,
A tale that no one would talk of.
There was no palace, no moon and stars shinning.
I was moving gradually, learning to walk past the odds,
Odds unseen, breeding every moment in my heart's dark chamber.
My feet burnt and bled seeing the death of all that I knew was serene, and pious.
Who wrote the script with the burning coal on the skin,
Wounds so deep and never to heal.
All that I was looking for was coherence in the chords
But, the music was dead and rhythm choked
Slowly melting candle was ringing in the days of end.
I never read my story my friend.

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