It was a nice and quiet place to sit and hide. In this book, written in it, is nothing but tears. Never a word was written by hand, but those that are written by feelings. Being alone to nothing but the soft, definite light and dead eyes walking everywhere else continued. Where was a place for a black fairy of dreams, lost? A secluded bird, caged in willingly. Will there be will to move on?
He alone came to that place. All the words were spoken to open hearts. He was kind, and honest. He was warm, and inviting. Taking the hand to light, led on the pleasant path, and leaving all that once was. A friend forever was made. The feelings cemented.
Unpleasant ideas left one to one. Alone again, but ailing for the other instead. Leading a change to form the world around, unsung bonds became epics. Only sung softly to one another, it became music for all to hear. A lullaby we knew by heart. A lullaby we kept without lyrics.
Spreading the black wings, the raven took the unholy white. Though pact was made, bonds were cut. The invisible hellfire surrounding the arm of salvation broke away the heralded impossible bind. Two sets of wings flew freedom that day.
That comfortable, quiet place to hide was a memory, left to the book. The lifeless eyes brightened to the future. The everlasting friendship was forged, and the book of tears left to the memory’s keeping.
Now an invincible light shines on the smiles us children hold, in the endless story and fantasy world that is as much real. The black raven that of a white angel, only he could say, and in the end there is only one thing to hold true: I love him.
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