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When the inflated crunching sky turns into the black hole, one by one the expected stars slowly falling on the horizon, sudden deep dark clouds cover the silky face of moon, or the earth takes the full moon.

Long, long shadows darken the meadows, southern wind can’t open your closed window at all, standing along on the curve of a road, a sigh to fly in the wind, roaming heart finding a home.

See the mystic form of the known objects, distant standing old banyan tree suppose to feel a lonely friend of mine, a friend of rootless time, when silly, bogus thoughts engulfed me, want to break up but change does not cry out.

Melancholy beauty in the dark, floating with the imagine gulls in the sky, draw the red sun on the canvas of dark sky within the wings of dream, again see you are playing with the seven colors across my unfinished sky.
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@Musfiq us shaleheen
 Jul 2015 lucy winters
nivek
the taste of yesterday lies dead on my tongue
and between my teeth I bite into today
half hearted a stranger to myself, I keep breathing
the stench of decay through a straw until I see
all beauty will one day disappear from view
and I will leave a stinking corpse for others to bury
 Jul 2015 lucy winters
your name
swallowing sorrow, drowning in sadness,

wondrous words, brought on by madness.

feels frail, no wonder this happened.

idolizing ideas, crazy contraption.

tripped up torn, lust like magic.

loyal lover, follows his passion.

lust like magic, no wonder this happened.
 Jul 2015 lucy winters
your name
what do you find yourself with time for.
parts of life we choose to ignore.
the things you spend hours looking for,
left on the inside of the locked door.

living tortuously through each day.
searching for an available soul to sway.
take your pick, then trick them to stay.
keep them a safe distance away.

done in such a brutal fashion.
lead in a furious rage of passion.
nothing left for us but a lethal extraction.
shedding of sadness you don't dare imagine.
Do not fall in love with a woman who loves the same music you do, because when she leaves, music is all you have left, then even your passion for music, begins to betray you.
Pen
Maybe when the author was writing our story
His pen has run out of ink
And when he finally got another
He already forgot what's next
And changed our ending
Where you ended up with someone else
While I am waiting for you to come back
Im not a fan of fairytales.
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