All Dreams Lay Dying.

All dreams lay dying at the hands of the sword,
Crafted in the fires of confusion and haste; set and stagnated in the cool waters of weakness.

All dreams, they lay in pieces on the floor,
Destroyed by the violence of winds from the south; fuelled by unease and restlessness.

Reckless abandon.
Heavy hands.
Promises made and broken.

All dreams lay dying in the brutal winter frost;
A heart frozen and shattered in shards of disbelief;
Reeling, bending, breaking at the seams.
For love is made of truth, hope and trust, and with your sword, your winds, your frost, you have broken it.

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