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the days all seem to blend into one long song of regaling minstrels of mixed temperament and poets of a different tongue all she can say to you as she shows you the door is that she wishes you well and hopes you enjoyed the ride cause you know its the right thing to do and she kisses your cheek out into the night you shuffle you wander the carnival of the city streets and wonder at the creatures of night who don't need a home to know who they were born to be who don't need directions to know right from wrong the passive shadow retreats across the floor as the day slips my gaze rides the rays out the window to breathtaking panorama of sky but after few moments the skies silent awe evaporates as day crowds back in these are days in the length of my years that i pause to ponder the small ripples the slight thing that becomes a tidal wave later in life sets in like the worn heel of favored running shoes its bitter dregs taste sweet in comparison to the taste of her eyes as she rejected the venture its a fine gift like a box of gold like a treasure of the soul but it is not real it is not true it is simply a feeling of comradeship a heartfelt desire that things could be different late afternoon sunlight through the narrow window falls on the burnished oak bringing to life the the beloved scents of childhood home my parents library of books spread through the house and all that knowledge that once thought was so precious has turned into a phone that dont ring the passive shadow retreats across the floor as the day slips my gaze rides the rays out the window to breathtaking panorama of sky but after few moments the skies silent awe evaporates as day crowds back in and i remember that i was once a footloose son and once danced in the dust of a summer sun with a girl wearing a rose printed dress and all seemed so right and true that day and it was and it was these are days in the length of my years that i pause to ponder the small ripples the slight thing that becomes a tidal wave later in life these days are long gone before they ever came aint that just like her
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Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
treasure of the soul
the days all seem to blend into one long song of regaling minstrels of mixed temperament and poets of a different tongue all she can say to you as she shows you the door is that she wishes you well and hopes you enjoyed the ride cause you know its the right thing to do and she kisses your cheek out into the night you shuffle you wander the carnival of the city streets and wonder at the creatures of night who don't need a home to know who they were born to be who don't need directions to know right from wrong the passive shadow retreats across the floor as the day slips my gaze rides the rays out the window to breathtaking panorama of sky but after few moments the skies silent awe evaporates as day crowds back in these are days in the length of my years that i pause to ponder the small ripples the slight thing that becomes a tidal wave later in life sets in like the worn heel of favored running shoes its bitter dregs taste sweet in comparison to the taste of her eyes as she rejected the venture its a fine gift like a box of gold like a treasure of the soul but it is not real it is not true it is simply a feeling of comradeship a heartfelt desire that things could be different late afternoon sunlight through the narrow window falls on the burnished oak bringing to life the the beloved scents of childhood home my parents library of books spread through the house and all that knowledge that once thought was so precious has turned into a phone that dont ring the passive shadow retreats across the floor as the day slips my gaze rides the rays out the window to breathtaking panorama of sky but after few moments the skies silent awe evaporates as day crowds back in and i remember that i was once a footloose son and once danced in the dust of a summer sun with a girl wearing a rose printed dress and all seemed so right and true that day and it was and it was these are days in the length of my years that i pause to ponder the small ripples the slight thing that becomes a tidal wave later in life these days are long gone before they ever came aint that just like her
mark-john-junor-1
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59/M/American
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
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