Her dreams were bright and soaring high,
To write was all she longed to try,
But doubters came and crushed her hope,
With harsh critiques and biting scope.
“Your work sounds like those of a "hungry writer", she was told.
She met a writer
Her heart was captured by his words,
And thus, a new desire stirred,
To write with passion, heart, and soul,
And make her words a perfect whole.
But fate was cruel and took away,
The masterpiece she wrote one day,
And though she tried, she could not bring,
Its magic back, her heart took wing.
Again, she tried and poured her soul,
Into her work, to make it whole,
But critics came and tore it down,
And left her heart in pieces, drowned.
"This sounds very shallow and unrelatable, just like those "wannabe writers", another said to her.
She tried to give up writing then,
But couldn't silence the call within,
And so, she tried again once more,
And this time, praise came to her door.
She felt alive and full of zest,
And knew her dreams must be addressed,
She pursued writing with her heart,
Despite rejection's painful dart.
Her hope had brought her pain and strife,
But through it all, she learned to thrive,
For life is but a dangerous thing,
And hope's the light that makes it sing.
Hope is a dangerous thing
What is life without danger?