A Life Not Chosen
Few really knew you.
They've called you childlike, selfish, spoiled.
You had all the ingredients of a tragedy:
a voice that should have filled the great houses of Europe,
the voice of an angel, its beauty marred by the
delicate undertone of petulance;
your eyes in the darkness often wet with tears;
your fingers plucking at an ornate sleeve;
the dulcet tones of your voice rough with sorrow:
"Don't leave me, I cannot live without you;"
Even a tragic love.
Though it seemed to some that you never knew what you wanted,
I think you were frightened to make a decision,
taking the path of least resistance
even when it brought you pain,
afraid that if you opened your soul
to the heart that reached out to you,
you would lose yourself.
In your voice there was such beauty,
such potential for greatness,
yet you turned away
from the only true beauty in all your sheltered life,
and threw it all away for that spoiled brat,
the golden child who offered salvation with one hand
and damnation in the other.
Erik, poor doomed soul,
you could never tell the difference.
---
AMH
27 June 2005
Thank you to musiquephan for beta-ing and for the perfect title. :) :mwah:
