I once sang a song no one heard,
Yet the room I sang it in was full,
When I opened my mouth,
They closed their hearts,
And all I heard,
Was silence,
That silence was key,
A key to see,
What others refused to see,
A key to life,
To love,
To liberty,
Yet I set down that key,
So all I heard,
Was silence,
I once sang a song,
In an empty room,
When the room heard the song,
The room did cry,
Oh why oh why oh why,
Do thy cry,
I cry,
Said I,
For why cry alone,
For why cry,
For why,
Cry a tear of lie,
And all I heard was silence,
I once sang a song that everyone heard,
I sang it alone,
I cry alone,
I cry,
Oh why,
And all I heard,
Was silence,
Years ago in the center of town their lived an old Pony. No one remembered his name, but most just called him Greymane. Greymane was a happy stallion, long past his prime. But he was still strong enough to walk without an aid. And this day, he takes a walk.
Walking past his little town, he was stopped by no pony. Many ponies greeted him warmly as he walked down the main street. He passed the town bakery, it’s red brick and glass walls blending in with the saddle shop next door.
Passing a young couple holding their foals, they greeted him as well. He had officiated their wedding, and had held up their drunk best stallion during his toast.
Still walking, he passed the blacksmiths. And as he passed, the smith waved a hoof. Then went back to hammering the nails he was working on, sparks flying, a smile on his muzzle.
Two foals kicking a ball back and forth between the two of them, greeted and hugged the old stallion who had fixed the oddly fashioned ball they now played with.
Walking out of the town, he greets the wandering traveler. Greymane had walked with him for some time before taking a different path to where he needed to go.
Passing through the woods, he was greeted by the birds who sung for him a song. They danced as they flew bringing a smile to the old stallion’s face.
Walking again he passed an old wooden stand, where his father used to sell fruit. The stand was broken, hidden away, only a few planks of pale wood visible. He then passed the ditch where he had once broken a leg, and a cart.
Passing through the fields he found the old battlefield, where Solar and Lunar forces once raged war. Now all that stood were tattered banners, one pair crossing poles at the center of the battlefield.
The old stallion kept walking, and once again found his path. His path took him to a small clearing where a small river flowed. Drinking lightly from the stream, he looked around. The forest changed, as did all things. But this clearing had been here since the beginning.
Walking again, he watched as a fox chased another fox around the forest, Brothers, raised in their skulk, and inseparable since birth, they danced, caring only for their siblings company.
Reaching into a hollow tree stump, he pulled out a bottle of beer, hidden away for years, forgotten. Drinking shallow sips, he walked. And when the bottle was empty, he placed it in another hollow stump, next to more empty bottles. Of the same beer, only have been drunk decades earlier.
Walking out of the forest, so full of memories, he kept walking. Turning on a dirt road, he faced a town. And was greeted warmly, by ponies wishing him a good day, and a pleasant walk. He passed a bakery, made out of candy and bread. The saddle shop was on the other end of the street, and did not blend in with the bakery at all.
Passing a newly wed couple, their drunk best ponies following, they greeted him warmly. Walking down the main street he saw two young foals throwing a disc around, they smiled and waved their hooves.
There was no blacksmith, no warm heat or pounding hammers. But a building at the far end of the street called out to him. So he walked there.
Walking in he heard music, music sounding through the air for all to hear. Walking through the great wooden doors, he saw row upon row of seats, all focused on a single pony on the too big stage. She had a grey coat and black mane, with a bow tie on her neck and a different bow clutched in her hoof.
A great cello sounded through the theater, playing music he had never heard. He sat down in one of the empty seats around hundreds of other ponies already seated. And as she played an Alicorn looked down at the seats.
A seemingly normal stallion of advanced age had just entered, but she smiled when she saw him. Just another old soul enjoying the music.
And as the ponies music stopped playing, ponies rose and stomped their hooves, the gray pony took a bow. But an old stallion thought out loud, “Truly, Life if Beautiful.” He slowly closed his eyes, and All He Heard, Was Silence.
If anyone was to check, their was no stallion like the one who came in late at the concert. None had entered and none had left. If anyone were to trace his steps back, their was no beer in the stump, no bottles hidden for years. Foxes were extinct, no clearing ran through the deadly Everfree. That battlefield was cleared hundreds of years ago, and no stand was ever found. Birds were always silent, travelers no longer wander, no two foals played an extinct sport. Blacksmiths were no longer needed, couples didn’t visit this place, and no store used red bricks. For their was no town, and their hadn’t been, for a long, long, time.
