ancient city dwellers

crumbled grey bricks litter the streets

as sunlight persists through the cracks left in walls

vestiges of histories come and gone.

In the center of this city

there is a well,

deep, stricken with black water.

Once, it was clean,

azul, bluer than the

sunniest day

but now,


it lies dormant,

forgotten, shed long ago

much like the lives which

once served as the

heartbeat for this city.

Heartbeats which once together,

lay in the night,

whispering in their native tongue

words filled with passion,

with caring, with love.

Words which lit their bodies on fire

and inspired midnight dances

behind closed doors.

Dances which lasted until the sunlight once again

crept through the cracks in their imperfect walls,

dances which carried on until the dawn of today,

if even only by ghostly remnants of their

hidden souls.

For it is sometimes ghosts of the past

which carry on their work through us,

trapped in the soul of another,

forever fighting their way back

to the love of yesterday,

never giving up hope until

they too, are once again hidden behind closed doors,

dancing a delicate tango

embraced by the one with whom

they found solace

so many many moons ago.


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