I was spinning in circles.
Eyes closed, fingers lightly touching the steel strings of my guitar,
music slowly falling in tiny droplets
Into the air surrounding me.
A little mist I breathe in,
Composed from the tiniest little notes.
Fingers speak only in the quiet rhythms of my heart,
Telling that old tale our insides know too well.
Secrets, passions, desires.
My plain will and how I try to gently exert it onto the world around me.
How I love to pretend I'm really the one in control.
In these moments I almost believe it.
The song ends, spinning stops, eyes open.
I'm alone in my room.
It's late. So quiet.
Nothing left for the guitar or my heart to say tonight.
It's so quiet.
From the soft glow cast from dim lamplight
I think about how I always wanted to dance and kiss in rain.
Play and laugh, let silliness abound for smiles' sake.
Think about how I always wanted to be immortal,
Spare my loved ones from the day that it will be the time for me to bid adieu.
I would rather be the last one standing on that quiet hillside,
The one overlooking the farmland that my elders worked with their own hands,
Waiting once again for that northern sun to set,
Missing those closest to me, rather than be missed.
In the late night quiet of my room
A little thought tickles the back of my neck.
Someday I'm going to die.
A few days ago there were smiles and laughter in this otherwise quiet home.
Children laughing, playing, being children.
Adults talking, smiling. The rooms seemed brighter that day.
Those shadows that I follow didn't seem so dark.
In those children's eyes I finally saw immortality for what it really is,
What it should be.
The moment when those loving children hug you, and you kiss the tops of their little heads,
Tell them you love them. They tell you the same, and all of those words mean very little
Compared to what your hearts sing so sweetly,
so strongly to each other.
The melodies spun from the hearts of children,
Made of the purest, tinkling notes,
Songs that need to be heard by all of us.
I think maybe we would all be a little happier
If we took the time to listen to their little tunes
that speak of play, of laughter,
Of silliness for smiles' sake.
In the quiet of my room
I still want to be immortal.
I don't want to, but I know
That
Someday
I'm going to die.
I hope to dear God that
Children will be singing, playing and laughing that day.
Eyes closed, fingers lightly touching the steel strings of my guitar,
music slowly falling in tiny droplets
Into the air surrounding me.
A little mist I breathe in,
Composed from the tiniest little notes.
Fingers speak only in the quiet rhythms of my heart,
Telling that old tale our insides know too well.
Secrets, passions, desires.
My plain will and how I try to gently exert it onto the world around me.
How I love to pretend I'm really the one in control.
In these moments I almost believe it.
The song ends, spinning stops, eyes open.
I'm alone in my room.
It's late. So quiet.
Nothing left for the guitar or my heart to say tonight.
It's so quiet.
From the soft glow cast from dim lamplight
I think about how I always wanted to dance and kiss in rain.
Play and laugh, let silliness abound for smiles' sake.
Think about how I always wanted to be immortal,
Spare my loved ones from the day that it will be the time for me to bid adieu.
I would rather be the last one standing on that quiet hillside,
The one overlooking the farmland that my elders worked with their own hands,
Waiting once again for that northern sun to set,
Missing those closest to me, rather than be missed.
In the late night quiet of my room
A little thought tickles the back of my neck.
Someday I'm going to die.
A few days ago there were smiles and laughter in this otherwise quiet home.
Children laughing, playing, being children.
Adults talking, smiling. The rooms seemed brighter that day.
Those shadows that I follow didn't seem so dark.
In those children's eyes I finally saw immortality for what it really is,
What it should be.
The moment when those loving children hug you, and you kiss the tops of their little heads,
Tell them you love them. They tell you the same, and all of those words mean very little
Compared to what your hearts sing so sweetly,
so strongly to each other.
The melodies spun from the hearts of children,
Made of the purest, tinkling notes,
Songs that need to be heard by all of us.
I think maybe we would all be a little happier
If we took the time to listen to their little tunes
that speak of play, of laughter,
Of silliness for smiles' sake.
In the quiet of my room
I still want to be immortal.
I don't want to, but I know
That
Someday
I'm going to die.
I hope to dear God that
Children will be singing, playing and laughing that day.
