The Dryad's ConfessionI live in the dells your machines have yet to touch Sprig of green in my hair, on my dress A flower. To match the season’s fashions as I wait And watch - not the chitter-chatter birds or leaping frogs or flighty deer or burrowing worm. I watch you. Foolish man. And wait. Wait for you to come to me I cannot step on poisoned soil Sown with salt and tar and death So I wait. Flowers in my hair Wilt in rain and hear alike. But you will come, my dear. One day, one of you.The Dryad's Confession
You always do.
Cuckoo In The NestCuckoo, cuckoo You’re mad, the bird says. It would know, with that compulsion to keep time. I’m surrounded by cuckoos telling me that. They force sanity down my throat But I don’t sleep. A protest. They can enclose me in this voidCuckoo In The Nest
(So stark, unlike the blackness of my mind that spirals and scribbles like I ramble on and on…) Hurt me in the search for ‘cure’ But they won’t break me. I’ll break them. They watch me watching them (on and on and on…) Through the camera, a hundred eyes, wondering Why I don’t speak D
Creature of AgesNarrow V of white curling in the sky above restless, tossing sea So rough. So cold Like you.Creature of Ages
A creature of ages Hewn from granite Carved on a cliff face You stare, impassively at all you see As if, by some chance You were not part of it Living, breathing humans cannot see you
They see only the stones, Not the sea-glimmer in your eyes The wind in your hair The sun on your hewn-rock form.
Why stand here forever Jealously guarding the path wherever it leads When others have already made their mark &nb
Before SeptemberBefore SeptemberBefore September
The water drained away Leaving acid-colour fish to gasp for breath Looking as though they were screaming Bushes and roses withered to brown and dusty ash or petrified shadow of the space’s last occupant But though I saw death everywhere, I was happy Before September.
I remember grey-black castle walls That shone like steel, metallic hopes and dreams of Nobility, in the sun. The slates, the tower, sparkled blue, fairy dust To a Princess ensconced by a possessive Lord who kept her, in a gilded cage made from
Beneath the Ashes of AmberIt was under the flaming fire— the lost and forgotten Day of December:Beneath the Ashes of Amber
He asked, “Remember?” But her heart
had become cold steel, and turned
to a resistant color of umber under the falling rain; then, frozen over by
the snow with angered disdain.
The heart bled a forbidden sanguine— anguished and torn. Upset and worn; it was then
the innocent white, once perfectly
immaculate, was stained with sin.
Though, soon after, a fire flickered— It wasn’t so hard to remember.
Below the burning e
I'm Not Dead
Stuck
Oh, and you have some really beautiful drawings in your gallery
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Free Palestine [link]
Thanks again
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Free Palestine [link]
Thank you, although I'm more of a watcher these days. Good luck with all of your work.
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All I have to say is bwah, ha, and another ha...
Come see me *afangirlsdream
Let the punishment fit the crime!
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