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Leyla Aurora Jun 2014
Cold fingers softly press on my neck.
Now I realize - there's no going back.
Another wrong move, and my bones will crack
Under your pressure, please, let me go back

To our peaceful beginning and countless smiles,
To hopes that we held, yet not bitter goodbyes.
No misunderstandings, by beauty veiled lies.
Where is that time when we yet didn't hear cries?

My fingers on yours, I'm trying to loose,
Reduce your sweet envy, maybe I will confuse
Your thoughts, and your heart, but it now can't choose
Between love and envy, now I will lose

Just give me the chance to breathe in your air!
My lungs thirst for life, but it fades in nowhere...
You pass your cold fingers through my wet hair,
Last light dies in my eyes. You do not care.

About my strong feelings,  about what I need
You work for your own sake, put poisonous seed
In my soul it groes into black rose of greed,
Your pride gets it's food, and I get to bleed.

Will I ever let go, and find my own will?
It's not you who holds on, but I'm holding still.
I ask you for ******, don't care if you'll ****,
**** me now, in this moment,  and it is MY will!
ideal in part shade
it groes well in any soil
showy plumed goat's beard
they are asking in the village if the pub is open yet.

i question  have  they called by to ask?



they are asking in the village if the pub serves food.

have they popped in to ask &  to see the menu?



they are saying in the village that the front needs tidying

as does the car park.



i ask the folk in the village if they will tidy their own place

and  to be glad the pub is open again.



i called in to a lovely guided tour and a warm welcome.



let us not be so critical. tyn y groes.

— The End —