Writers 
Under the ashes of yesterday,
Where broken dreams are laid to rest,
A little ember would not go out,
Under the blue sky, it continues to shine.
The winds had come and the storms had cried,
There were many valuable things which had perished.
The road was dark and the nights were long,
But deep down there was a song, though.
Hope softly spoke, “Rise again,
Though life was filled with tears and pain.
It said, “Your story is not through,
It's not over yet.”
Once bright dreams were covered by the ashes,
However, could not contend with the light.
For even if the flame appears to have died,
There's a smoldering embers that can remain.
So I will get up from the loss I have suffered,
I won't be afraid of the bittern price.
The things that happened to me when I was in the past,
Those same scars will aid me in seeing.
I may have fallen down and cried,
But hope has never left my side.
If by chance my name is called,
I will rise again and take my breath again.
Under the ashes can grow life,
Flower after dark.
While it seemed like it was a conclusion yesterday,
May be the start of a brighter day.
So let me ride the road still,
And proceed in a straight path.
For, hope can grow where ashes lie,
Razor-thin margins are capable of gaining altitude.