Link 2

Some things you cannot hold,
a snow flake that melts in your hand,
a spirit that is fiery and free,
the sun that shines down where you stand.
And the oh so elusive me.

These things you cannot hold,
the writing made by a plane in the sky,
the air that we breathe until we die,
a kiss that is thrown in a good bye.
And the oh so elusive me.

There are some things you cannot hold,
a whisper softly spoken in the night,
the gentle breeze rolling off the ocean's coast,
a star above glimmering so bright.
And the oh so elusive me.

But for the things you cannot hold,
a memory is made in your heart,
of a time when you enjoyed each one,
no matter how brief until the part.
Even of the oh so elusive me.

Sadness is just
the flip side of happiness,
so I'll stand on my head for awhile.
And everyone will look and point
and think that girl sure has style.
Just another bimbo gone wild,
just another woman beguiled,
just another sexual denial,
looks like another frustrated child.

But soon the sadness will pass
for we know moods never do last.
So it is better not to do anything so rash
best just to organize and take out the trash.
For tomorrow will be another day
r and it is always better to play then pay.
Especially for a woman who is light of heart
and believes each day is a brand new start.

Reflections in the moonlight,
like memories in time,
dancing upon the water,
like glimpses through my mind.

History through the ages,
are etched here to find,
memories like looking glass,
cresting the waves of time.

Some are based in reality
some are elaborate tales,
handed down from generations
lessons to learn unveiled.

Distant moons of time
call to us, places just out of reach.
Reflections, mirrored in the moonlight
for all the world to teach.

I have been bold, as a lioness
hunting for prey in my youth,
sensual touch, getting my share,
blissful nights, lonely no more.
Something in your eyes,
I know that look.

I have felt the warm body,
illusion of closeness,
need fulfilling need,
the conquest-- having was
important not the man,
I know that style.

I have tasted the freedom,
been a player in the game,
moved on out of boredom,
never going back,
not a second look.
I know you,
I see my reflection.

Gently weaving
a thread of chance
that once was life's
hopeful dance.

Flowing freely
taken by fate
love's distance
virgins silently wait.

Snuffed candles
smoking in the rain
torrid games of love
nobody claims.

Weeping silently
darkness of night
dragons slain
spirits flight.

Innocent death
left empty with rage
embittered, engorged
middle aged.
.

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