Strum a string, another for the day

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Leave behind a feather, fly away.

Strum a string, another for the day.

Sing sing sing, from the heart, where you are.

I can hear you, here, amongst the stars.

There’s one there, a mountain.

At the foothills of time.

You’ll find me waiting,

after your climb.

Go on, there’s no delay.

After all that’s come to dismay.

Drift off a feather, fly away.

And strum a string, another for the day.

How is it done

They don’t fade easily.

Those worn memories.

Silent daggers,

piercing reverie.

Drops in the ocean 

of never meant to be. 

How is it done, by the world, the rest?

To treat them as strangers. 

They, that were once guests. 

In the most tempestuous of courts. 

The longing of mind,

the desire of hearts.