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"For love can comment upon every woe"

This love
has been dead and  remained ghost,

my love
my stowaway,
"as who should say,
my strength is tried"

he's the light within the dawn
As the morning star is seen
by glistening eyes.

His love
his eyes, a melancholy malcontent

if his love he'll soon forget,
this is what I can't have again.
"The Merchant of Venice"
Act 4 scene 1
William Shakespeare
Look up on the sky,
the stars were too high
and soon I'll let you down
we're the lost Pilgrims,
the believers that the earth
will stop its rotation
we're in the middle of it all,
until you recognize my face again.
I hold your hands
and somehow, we find our way.
All of a sudden
we're just contented
of getting what we need-
what we wanted to be,
no detour that misleads,
no pavement to put our paces through.
We just got by the humidity
and a little bit gloom
you're facing the unknown
half shy exposed.
you asked me, not to look back,
no push restart
and I nestled strangely with ease.
08-21-19
This night seems endless -
when all I can do, is to look at you
"I know what we are"

The
language
of
time

If it wasn't
it didn't;

You know what we are.
A perseverance.
Mirror mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all?"

And the reflection flickered
she saw her eyes, old and tired
her face is pale but her beauty
glows stubbornly.

- like an untold distance of a star.

"Mirror mirror on the wall
show to me
whose lover I will be"

and nothing showed. She ask for another
but darkness may seem to be a deep place.

"Love dawns within you
and they would too."
She'd been once a butterfly
she had lost in her brokenness.

She's gone too far,
she'd done enough
she lost something she know
that once, it made her happy.
daylight burns as the twilight glows
the rain can't fill her vacancy.

She'd been wary of sweet dandy
and sugar rush
it's a grotesque of catastrophe
that made her run
in darkness
in sadness,
she left in gray shadows --
the ghost of forsaken.

Their laced fingers become her cage
she know, it's her escape
she won't be sorry of her perfections
as the lure of lullabies.
She become a butterfly
she'd been broken
as she lost.
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