A Field of Decaying Asters

You were a decaying vine,seeking to destroy the past,only to find the tendrils of the old pain probing past memories

A dancer dies twice,the first death is the most painful,drowned in an ocean where all light is silenced,your former passion or identity has taken its final breath,your wounds exposed and open.

Time comes to hault.Your will rocked by the tides that challenge your understanding,the pulse of the seas forcing you to dance again,awaiting your rebirth,

The rebirth of The Black Swan

Let this be a new symphony, a new melody to wove a new song of your remedy