Elvis had a twin.
A brother,
an other.
Identical,
inseparable.
A soul to his soul.
A Garon to his Aron.
But Garon had a life-less life.
Did Garon instead
live to give?
Was he a
sound-less song?
A string on a bow
for an otherwise arrow-less Aron?
If so…
Where is the force
Of a million soul-dead selves
Who drain their essence
In their worth-less work,
Who glaze over their light
In hours of vision-less television.
Do they feel as empty
As Mrs. Presley’s childhood-less child?
Are they just pawns
In a king-less kingdom?
Don’t they remember
That every soul is
A master-less master
A prison-less prisoner
A dancer-less dance
With famous-less fame?