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a cool wind blows old memories through the door an addition to a chapter we've held underneath our hearts hidden there for sure. o, what dominating glides you swish you slide and manoevre us to your will guiding us down the path you intend us to follow leaving a lingering of hope and yet desire. how we miss those days of yore. where we lived through fantasy where it was just oh so real. where the tips of our tongues did not yearn with such a trembling effort to our wishes. our dreams present such obstacles for us three cases shall be provided. one: a string is tied around my heart, pulling as it pleases it does not hold great effort on me, for the pain it singes to my very core and i would do anything for it anything it asked not because of the pain it is a fire that burns within my soul that craves to be fulfilled and yet it bellows, to and fro. it is a flag on a mast the string, the flag, wavered by that tantalizing wind it blows so gently as if to kiss me in spite. and yet, i follow it willingly still hoping as the masts hold the flags that i will end to my horizion. my destination. two: a feeling of thine, so excuse the observer's sight. a soul-searcher, such like I wanders, wobblingly round and round despairing for new entrances through a revolving door the glass is as strong as we are. oh those dreadful mirages that pose as shimmering light we grasp for them with both hands held tightly onto falling sand revealing a desert yet again of hope. shall we dig beneath till we can dig no more to achieve our true heart's desires? the wind, it again fools our deepest cries. close your eyes from the storm let it not blind those few seconds of bliss that dreams bestow. please above all else let us dream. dream to hope. hope the wind will guide us to the only thing we've ever wanted. three: what is three? a number, or a list? the truth is it hurts too much to try and try to even continue the ways that we live our lives. always in search. always holding hope. the wind our fate. the guides, our love. o, shine, windmill, shine made of childhood dreams glitter in the morning sun of happiness that succeeds if we cannot taste nothing such as pure as that we must thank you for such a blessing, but instill in us the greatest passion known to man of not knowing how to achieve it and have it dwell within us evermore until our minds become as wild and insane as the winds that guide us desperate for what we need what is this lesson? and an echo through the wind makes the windmill stop at once a cloud overhangs my head a shadow upon the ground figures dancing here and there and the sun takes a nap. drizzle drizzle down my neck, now I lay me down to rest. what is there to look forward to but the hope of a dream?
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