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A year ahead, a year passed by,
The doors are still opened, and the ponds are still dry,
You did say you loved me, you did say goodbye,
Our irrevocable commitments proved promises are a lie.

Its the night recalling the showers in the springs,
And the weekend waltz to the attuned strings,
You revolve around me today, with your name engraved within,
Stop hiding from me, so long where have you been?

But for a second i believed..
As the gush of wind whispered your name,
The clock is ticking beside our picture frame,
You're flowing like the river,in your gown , camouflaging blue,
Lined up a lot of work, I still got seconds for you.
There is always a line between holding on and letting go.The proof is that we are constantly pulled by it.
She is the lady on the road.

She is a mother, a sister, a colleague, a bird, a lassie, a damsel.
She is the lady on the road.

She spreads love and enriches kindness in the society,
She is the crux of an organization, and the fundamental principles.
She is the lady on the road.

She twinkles with the stars and shimmers with the moon,
She scampers with her pets and hops like a frog,
She is not a nomad, but a faithful keeper.
She is the lady on the road.

She wears short skirts,
She wears tight tops,
She doesn't encourage the flirts,
She neither abominates the leering of cops.
She is the lady on the road.

She holds a honourable reputation,
She forms the base of ethical standards,
She buries the grudges and resolves the dissension,
She consolidates herself and maintains her fettle,
She is the epitome of cheerful disposition.
She is the lady on the road.

She ignores the catcalls,
She endures the torture and prevails her morale,
She is a monument unshakable, and a stone unbreakable,
She dumps her burdens and enlightens her destiny,
She protects her dignity and negotiates with denunciation,
She does no harm, but deals with it.
She is the lady on the road, ..the seventh wonder of the world.
The women of a country are the colors of your flag.
The velvet cover aroused a cringe inside,
With the touch to the diary with his wrinkled hand,
And the stolid shiver began to subside,
Pouring grin over his face, as the pages were scanned.

He stared at the words, turning the pages leisurely,
Every line he read, triggered  mild sentiments,
Not very severe but gentle and silly,
Soothing and abating the repressed resentments.

The diary delineated the stories behind each verse,
With hues of despair and projections of curse,
Depicting doleful goodbyes and cheerful handshakes,
All of them crushing and sinking into the filthy lakes.

Hopping from one stanza to another,
He slowed down his pace as he moved further,
Like the dormancy of his brain and the moments gray,
The lines reminded him of his birthday.

"I'm a poem, you'd liked to take a glance at,
I'm candle you will blow, I'm the feather on your hat,
I'm the words in your veins, I'm the verses you make,
I'm the lyrics on your lips,  I'm the name on your birthday cake."
There's a funny thing about sadness
The way it surrounds you so you feel whole
Nothing else is let in
Except the sorrow and the pain
You can see the happiness
But never feel it
Want it
But not have it
There's a funny thing about sadness
How you become so familiar with it you can't feel anything else.
I want to be a little crazy.
I want to be crazy beautiful.
I want to be beautifully creative.
I want to be creatively inspiring.
I want to inspire those who want to be a little crazy.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
This music.
It makes me feel so good.
Too good, I can't listen.
I have to turn it off.
It makes me feel fuzzy inside,
Warm, soft, comfortable.
Too hot, too soft, too comfortable.

They're laughing again,
Harder, louder, stronger.
I can't turn it off, this song.
It doesn't keep their laughs out
But it does capture my heart.
It hurts but feels good.
It makes me think.

I'm still on my cloud,
It's still rainy and wet
And the thunder never ends.
It's cold and hard as stone
But I'm still so comfortable
And it's trapping me,
Taking me, killing me.

I wish you were here with me,
On my lonely cloud in the sky
So we can listen together.
Pink Floyd and Novembre.

Forever together.
Its not long enough
But still too long,
It's all the same to me.

Whether I'm alone
Or you're talking to me
I still listen to both
The song and you.
I've figured that maybe, just maybe,
You are the song for me.

I don't want to say that yet,
But I still want to say so much.
I'm running out of time
Before I lay down and die.
I want to say
"I want you here next to me"
But I don't want another
Broken love story.
I've read it so many times,
I thought I've finally given up
Trying to get different results.

But you, you're different.
I want to invite you to my cloud
But I don't want to be wrong.
I want you by my side
But I don't want to break another heart.
And I want you in mine
But it's still locked up tight.
You have all the keys, but
All you need to do is get them right.
The title is from a Pink Floyd song but they're not the lyrics. It started because of the song but eventually transitioned into this.

I hope you know who you are.
One of us sees a storm.
visibility is low,
winds are high,
as a blizzard swirls and howls.
The hazy sky rages forevermore.

It's always been, and will it always?
At the corner of her room,
her face is hidden by emotion.
Soon snowflakes will fall for the last time.

The other sees nothing but the same.
The same old rain
Every single day.
The grey sky sheds its tears infinitely.

Its always been, and will it always?  
At the corner of her room,
She rests her head on a fist.
Soon the yellow rain jacket will find its hook.
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