When the red bird sings in the early snowy spring..
an its wings drip blood of a new rose bud.
We shall know of new life untold..
The newest blade of grass is green an growing
an each sprigg shakes its ice dew.
We shall know of new life untold.
The gray sky give slow way to a new brilliant blue
an then again to a soft heu.
We shall know of new life untold.
Mother, now your lover has told you his small secret ..
Walk amongst your children an wake them to tell ..
Let you golden green cloak brush there toes
an your amber hair leave you head floral sent to their noses..
Tell them of you secret that your lover told..
Wake them to play an frolic.
An we shal know of things Untold..
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Sabbat
The triple goddess dancing bright
With the greenman's richest raiment.
I reach up to welcome the moon
For the glory of Cernnunos.
Triple goddess stirs creation,
I praise the perfection of all.
I light candles for those in need,
While dancing among the moonbeams,
Merry meet, one and all, be blessed.
With the greenman's richest raiment.
I reach up to welcome the moon
For the glory of Cernnunos.
Triple goddess stirs creation,
I praise the perfection of all.
I light candles for those in need,
While dancing among the moonbeams,
Merry meet, one and all, be blessed.
Innocents
We shall dangel in the abyss of our sweet an torrid lonelyness
We shall excape in the dreams yesterday left on our door step
We shall stare in wonderment of the mistake an regret that tought us love
We shall for get the hope of a yournger years innocent trust
We shall stand back to back in hope of another life
We shall scream the purety of lifes breath
But we will never happen uppon each lifes plain again.
Let us share this womb..
We shall excape in the dreams yesterday left on our door step
We shall stare in wonderment of the mistake an regret that tought us love
We shall for get the hope of a yournger years innocent trust
We shall stand back to back in hope of another life
We shall scream the purety of lifes breath
But we will never happen uppon each lifes plain again.
Let us share this womb..
Writer's Workshop
I won't bite you - you'd like it too much. Seriously though, I love it Sophie!
I'm no critic, and I'm certainly no writer, but I too have a contribution.
Critique away - as long as it's not a total revamp, I'm cool with whatever.
Feeling isolated, I crawl into the recesses of my mind
Settling with a satisfied sigh into the comfortable territory that is self doubt,
I cannot help but recall the heart attacks that have unfolded in front of me.
They command my presence, yet I detract the truths that they claim to hold.
The illusion is neither mine nor yours, and is certainly not one that has been proven.
The blame lies stagnant within the deep recesses of our true selves.
Instinctually, I light a cigarette and the distraction allows me the luxury of anonymity -
if only for a moment, for without warning, my safe haven turns against me
I begin to ponder which vehicle escorted me here, and along what path did I blindly drive?
I wonder aloud that it can’t be safe to be so absently coherent.
Again, my mind wanders.
Życie długotrwałość jest świnią i my są całymi w tym …
The sub-standard “why are we here” conundrum doesn’t satisfy for the moment,
I move on to more present issues – the very ones I came here to avoid.
Waxing poetic with fallen trees does not a philosopher make. Am I crazy?
No, I decide, just loathsome and benign.
Truth is relative, but relatives do not always breed truth.
Ties are only as strong as that which binds them.
I'm no critic, and I'm certainly no writer, but I too have a contribution.
Critique away - as long as it's not a total revamp, I'm cool with whatever.
Feeling isolated, I crawl into the recesses of my mind
Settling with a satisfied sigh into the comfortable territory that is self doubt,
I cannot help but recall the heart attacks that have unfolded in front of me.
They command my presence, yet I detract the truths that they claim to hold.
The illusion is neither mine nor yours, and is certainly not one that has been proven.
The blame lies stagnant within the deep recesses of our true selves.
Instinctually, I light a cigarette and the distraction allows me the luxury of anonymity -
if only for a moment, for without warning, my safe haven turns against me
I begin to ponder which vehicle escorted me here, and along what path did I blindly drive?
I wonder aloud that it can’t be safe to be so absently coherent.
Again, my mind wanders.
Życie długotrwałość jest świnią i my są całymi w tym …
The sub-standard “why are we here” conundrum doesn’t satisfy for the moment,
I move on to more present issues – the very ones I came here to avoid.
Waxing poetic with fallen trees does not a philosopher make. Am I crazy?
No, I decide, just loathsome and benign.
Truth is relative, but relatives do not always breed truth.
Ties are only as strong as that which binds them.
Oh Gentle Night Come
Oh Gentle Night come... lay the world in thy sparkling blanket.
Soothe its worries with blissful silence as thy full moon sheds its milky light upon mine face.
Oh Gentle Night come... bring forth thy sweet romance that hearts fall in love with.
Open the wounds of loss and fill them with new desire as we gaze upon thy heavenly bodies.
Oh Gentle Night come... bring forth mine beloved to me away from the worries of the world.
Let thy silence be filled with our words of love, our cries of passion before the night bird awakens to sing.
Oh Gentle Night come... give rest to the weary as ye enshroud the world in arms of cool relaxation.
Bring forth the new day of hope and prosperity as ye sink into the warming glow of the rising sun.
Oh Gentle Night come...
Soothe its worries with blissful silence as thy full moon sheds its milky light upon mine face.
Oh Gentle Night come... bring forth thy sweet romance that hearts fall in love with.
Open the wounds of loss and fill them with new desire as we gaze upon thy heavenly bodies.
Oh Gentle Night come... bring forth mine beloved to me away from the worries of the world.
Let thy silence be filled with our words of love, our cries of passion before the night bird awakens to sing.
Oh Gentle Night come... give rest to the weary as ye enshroud the world in arms of cool relaxation.
Bring forth the new day of hope and prosperity as ye sink into the warming glow of the rising sun.
Oh Gentle Night come...
Love
As light shines upon the world,
so does love shine upon the face.
As the world grows with the passing of seasons,
so does love grow with the passing of time.
As the forest is cleansed with the showering rains,
so does love shower the broken heart.
As time continues even in death,
so does love continue in eternity.
The blessings of light are those of love.
so does love shine upon the face.
As the world grows with the passing of seasons,
so does love grow with the passing of time.
As the forest is cleansed with the showering rains,
so does love shower the broken heart.
As time continues even in death,
so does love continue in eternity.
The blessings of light are those of love.
Closed
Shadows of swaying limbs
dance forlornly upon drawn curtains.
Windows cease to be functional;
doors remain shut.
Candlelight shyly fingers lonely guitars
in dusty corners; stars in themselves…
now docile.
Music is thwarted by
broken speakers, rhythm halts at mid-beat.
Photos fade to deadened images, once a part.
Mental shelves become heavy with added occupants
sagging from the extra weight.
Poetry composes in my mind, scribbling jumbled
thoughts of senseless gibberish into a
vaguely coherent collection of crap.
Mirrors secretly depict one who defies reflection,
one who cannot see, who does not exist.
Dream's disguise becomes reality,
easy to understand, a cinch to cherish.
Awakening's burden is not readily cheered,
for eyes are sometimes better off when closed.
dance forlornly upon drawn curtains.
Windows cease to be functional;
doors remain shut.
Candlelight shyly fingers lonely guitars
in dusty corners; stars in themselves…
now docile.
Music is thwarted by
broken speakers, rhythm halts at mid-beat.
Photos fade to deadened images, once a part.
Mental shelves become heavy with added occupants
sagging from the extra weight.
Poetry composes in my mind, scribbling jumbled
thoughts of senseless gibberish into a
vaguely coherent collection of crap.
Mirrors secretly depict one who defies reflection,
one who cannot see, who does not exist.
Dream's disguise becomes reality,
easy to understand, a cinch to cherish.
Awakening's burden is not readily cheered,
for eyes are sometimes better off when closed.
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