The opposite of tender is the cold slice of wind that chases you away.

At the edge of silver is a drop of crimson red blood gaining weight.

The sadness of puppies whines, hoping to be found.

At the center of boredom lies a trapdoor, leading to productivity.

At the top of tomorrow waits two doors resting until one is to be chosen.

The swirl of loneliness sounds like a poorly tuned violin.

The enemy of green hides between rusted cars and booming factories.

The shape of the past fits inside a circle, a clock that goes past 12.

The rock bottom of October never will be seen, as it is always in a holiday disguise.

The antonym of pink are the shattered souls of a failed romance.

The hiding place of rain shivers underneath a thin layer of porous gravel.

If you turn hope on high, you’ll see a valley filled with disappointment and missed opportunities.

If you look underneath peace, you might hear the final note of a gleaming saxophone.

When you toss sadness to the wind, it returns as frigid snowflakes that scream arguments as they soar past you.

If you jump into the present, you’ll land on a plump pillow that’s been carefully fluffed.

When you tiptoe through the Valley Of Happiness, you might find all who you love, both those who left and those who stayed.