The Storyteller’s Soliloquy

If you walk the filthy roads north at sundown, when the sky is gilded with a golden cast

You will find a little town filled with stories of the past.

A small girl who learnt not every toy can be replaced.

A tired solider who sighed that fate can’t be changed

An old lady who sent unread letters to her daughter far across the seas, cooking fish for dinner

with a side of frozen peas.

A daughter who left the country to marry her wife,

A street dog that found home for the first time in his life.

No one but God might know how each story ends,

Afterall not every wound a healer tends, ever truly mends.

How unfortunate is it, that some stories never really finish,

Not happy nor sad, they just vanish!

So, I, a wraith

Whisper stories from beyond the grave, and true or not, make things come out right in the end!

The girl learns to make her own toys.

The tired soldier falls in love with simple joy

The old lady gets on a train across the city, but never meets her daughter, as she never sails the sea.

The daughter writes a letter to her wife, Stating that together or apart,

she will always be in her heart.

And the dog struggles with nightmares from his past

And talks to me, a wraith,

So that he may live his life at last!

I tell the dog what I have told many before,

That no one but God might know how each story ends,

Afterall not all wounds a healer tends,

ever truly mend

But we must tell our stories regardless of that fact,

Learning to face our fears and bravely act.

Above all,

we must learn how to dream and fly!

Or

We may become ghosts, Even before we truly die.