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Forbidden love my heart yearns
Or that's the way it seems to always go
Would you like to have a cup of coffee
And catch up on old times?
Oh yeah, we've only met
So let's talk about the time we may have tomorrow
Why is it I give away my heart so fast?
I look into eyes, dreamy sapphires
And hope that you can read the hints in mine | | |
| - Toxic~:~Butterfly An on-line saga, a soap opera if you will, of a story I had began to write some time ago. I'd like to pick it up again and hopefully finish it one of these days
http://geocities.com/elvis99i/gr.html
Please, check it out and post your comments here..... | | |
| "For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink form the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."
~Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
I have thought about death much recently. I know within my soul that death for me is near. Maybe not in a week or a year or even ten years. But this I do know, I will not live to a ripe age. I will die young, like my Mother before me. When this end of life befalls me, will I be ready? Or will I quake in the shadows of my death bed, contemplating the things in my past regretting the things I have done and more so the things I didn't do. What is it between Elvis Presley and myself that connects us? Like Elvis and his mother, both dead at the age of 42, my Mother also dead at forty and two years, I too will be dead at this ominous age, if not before. And like the entertainer himself, my farewell will be at that of my own demise. But knowing this now, halfway to my final days, is there nothing I can do to stop it. Knowing 21 years in advance of my own death is there nothing I can do to prevent my body from collapsing upon itself because of my own neglect and carelesness? Or is it just meant to be that I should die at what seems to be a predestined time? As death favors near shall I run from it or take it gracefully? I know death is not meant to be feared as it is inevitable and a reason to celebrate life. But what if I don't accomplish the things I have always dreamed of setting out to do? Then is my life in vain? Every soul is put into a material body to serve a purpose. What is mine? And will I ever achieve it? | | |
| Nobody Notices
He walks into the room, but nobody notices.
But for anyone that would, what would they see?
Who would they see?
He isn't what you would call your 'rugged man.'
In fact, his features almost feminine, he is more pretty than handsome.
To look at him, he appears no older than seventeen, baby-soft face, clear, pasty complexion.
But to talk to him, enter his mind,
You could be talking to a man twice, even thrice, his twenty-one years.
He speaks of many subjects, seemingly knowledgable.
But if there is something he has no voice of, he listens intently,
And putting in his opinion of the way he thinks things could be.
But as he walks into the room, nobody notices.
He searches the faces of those around him for any trace of familiarity.
He falls in love with the woman who glances in his direction.
But he darts his gaze from the eyes of whom he admires
In hopes she doesn't notice him noticing.
He doesn't want to be a fool just as anyone else wouldn't want to be.
He is innocence lost
A boy in this man's body
Yet he feels just the opposite,
A man beyond his years
Yet overcome with fear and shyness.
Nobody notices him
He needs so badly to be loved
But he turns those who love him against him.
He quietly turns and walks out of the room.
But nobody notices. | | |
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