where once they sang like lark
 

 mere words are lost on me
 

 'bout my being
 

         I cannot see
 

        what thee calls beauty
 

 As my inner torment
 

         will not relent
 

 A shoulder to cry on
 

  a heart to sigh on
 

 what is it you offer me?
  when my cup
runneth endlessly
  in false merriment
 The smile upon my face
  is likened to the sun
 In the small of my back
  it's forced
 like an assasin's gun
  is goading me
 i cannot run
  for fear is holding me
 hostage
  how can i love again
 Pay tribute to that old adage
 For auld lang syne
  rings out pain
 the bells of hope
  choke
 Like coarse rope
  and deafen me
 oblivious to what
  "men might see"

 (c) 23.04.07 andrea jane. (not shakespear, not close)
 

inspired by Juan, spanish eyes, a lot of soul searching. Does Miami hold
>>> the key to reclaiming my spontaneity
>>> Is it the same moon we are watching? worlds apart.
>>> thank you my friend for "listening" to me. It means more than fleeting
>>> beauty or vanity. The moon needn't be jealous
>>> of me a mere mortal compared to the Goddess that is she when i am long
>>> gone she will shine on eternally.