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Quote: Heaven never kissed the soul of she who knew not hell.
Nocturnal. Gothic. Submissive.
Romantic. Poetic. Writer. Dreamer.
Quiet. Feline. Passionate. Gypsy.
**NOTE From Management** If you cannot hold an intelligent conversation or thrive on immaturity, take it elsewhere. I do not give BS, nor do I want it. You WILL be blocked. Period. Some people take things far too seriously, and I can do without the drama.
Mother. Daughter. Aunt. Sister of mercy.
Angel of hope. Voice of consciousness.
Peacemaker. Sensual temptess.
Inquisitve child. Mischief maker.
Muse. Forbidden. Pet.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
Goth?
Goth, to me, is a state of mind moreso
than a fashion statement and not necessarily restricted to the vampiric.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
Romantic goth?
I like velvets and silks.
Lace and cloaks.
And yes, very much romantic of heart.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
Witch?
My faith is fueled by that of a deeper nature; deeper than most organized religions
will ever understand.
What I was taught was generation to generation.
Another path taken with a vision quest.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
Freak?
My tastes tend to run with a darker nature meshed with a curiosity for the taboo.
Vampire?
Only those who truly know me can answer that.
Magical? Aren't we all?
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
I can be very friendly and outgoing
when at work or dealing with people.
On the other hand,
I am quite solitary, shy, and very much the "people" watcher. I do not suffer fools well. Never have. Thus why I am the loner.
One can learn much from listening and observing.
My creative outlet is writing, whether it be stories,
poetry, random thoughts, or whatever sates the mood.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
Thru much trial and error, and seeking as well,
I have taken to heart that life is but a journey of learning.
I have a high reguard towards respect;
be it religion, lifestyle,
or whatever the case may be.
Though I am not Christian, I do take to heart "do unto others",
for I am a firm believer in karma.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
I am called "The Peacemaker" by my friends, and "She Who Dances With Ancients" by the elders of my tribe.
I am a healer and a visionary, and spend a great deal of my free time in the counseling of others.
I was raised with a darker influence in my life, and have remained there the majority of my life.
It seems one of my spiritual tasks is to lead those back from darkness who had no business being there to begin with.
While I know well both sides,
my choice has always been the shadows.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
Music and art entrance my imagination as does beauty of any form.
Nothing can stir my soul more than a rich melody that takes me off to a far
away place in my mind.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
There are many layers that forms what is "me" and as time passes,
more shall be shared here.
I placed a picture in my personal space below that is in loving memory
of a good friend, teacher, inspiration
and the first recognized Salem Witch King.
In loving memory of Shawn Poirier.
[ March 18 2007]
With much love to you, Shawn.
Forever you will live in our hearts!
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
A dedication to my brother, Chad,
who has been assigned as one of my guardian angels.
The sadness of his heart was heavier than we realized.
He is loved deeply and missed just as much.
[ February 5 2007]
Without loss, we would never learn to appreciate what we do have.
Without tears, we would never appreciate the smiles left behind.
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
If you'd like to get to know me, message me. If not, then I hope somewhere in my plain little profile,
you have enjoyed, reflected or even smiled, for just a brief moment...
Until then..
Buried at PhotoCasket.com
Just something I wanted to share by one of my favourite poets. Enjoy.
Loves Philosphy
by
~Shelley~
The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers mingle with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another's being mingle--
Why not I with thine?
See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;
-- What are all these kissings worth?
If thou kiss not me?
The Highwayman
By English poet Alfred Noyes
An extraordinary version of this poem has been set to music by Lorena McKennitt on her album, The Book of Secrets
I
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
Riding-riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
II
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
III
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
IV
And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-
V
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
VI
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
Marching-marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
II
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.
III
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
IV
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one figure touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
V
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
VI
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!
VII
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.
VIII
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
IX
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
X
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
Riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
XI
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
| Member Since: | Mar 06, 2006 |
| Last Login: | Jan 18, 2008 |
| Times Viewed: | 7,227 |
| Times Rated: | 517 |
| Rating: | 9.011 |
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