Ode

Twenty years running, brushing past the dust of the road; ode to the dreams weighted by the gazes of doubt around her song dancing. No one spoke of his name, he hovered the streets like morning fog; ode to what he stood for to make the mess around his world cursing. Secrets marched softly in a row, marched ever so softly in tow. She said love would burn her, spitting the ashes back home in a beggar's hand. Church bells once were ringing, dangling through the gust of wind; ode to her happiness weaker than the bitter hereafter around her soul dancing. No one told of his tale, he haunted her thoughts whenever it rained; ode to her strength that wasn't enough around her life draining. Secrets marched softly in a row, down by the river slowly in tow. She always swore love would burn her, and leave her dead cold.