The opposite of tender is black, the darkness of a windowless basement in the night

If you look underneath peace, you might hear the shots of hate and anger

At the edge of silver is the sharpness of the thorns on a rose

The swirl of loneliness sounds like a grand piano in an empty concert hall

When you toss sadness to the wind, it returns as a fresh clean slate

If you turn hope on high, you’ll see a hypothetical dream come true

At the center of boredom is the humming of sound of thought and inspiration

When you tiptoe through the Valley of Happiness, you might find a peaceful clearing between tall sunflowers