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SangreFria
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Name: H
Birthday: 3/28/1985
Interests: Read gothic fiction like the mysteries of udolpho, the monk, the castle of Otranto etc. and write...
Message: message me
Member Since:
1/25/2004
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| I'm back for a short while, so I'm posting something I wrote somewhere else.
The Back Door
I chase after the
light, the dimming light, and it stretches further away with every step I take.
Running down a dark corridor--a darkness overwhelming, one could hear the thud
of the heart--the light sways from side to side as I stretched out to grab it's
tail. "Just a bit more," to avail, I scream; it had slipped away when
I barely touched it with my fingertips. Suddenly I stood in darkness and
silence. Feeling through, touching the walls and crawling on the ground, I
dismay to the situation at hand.
But there it was; I felt the knob of a door, a back door
that leads to unknown territories. Magnificent is the powers of darkness, for
it can hide the unwanted and provide a glimmer of hope when none--and it
doesn't--exist. I am influenced by my
imagination, the image of greener pastures on the other side. I am persuaded by
the darkness around and within me; the secrets lie behind that door, back door
of my Inferno and Paradiso. The unwavering ash environment doesn't help me
decide in the path to take. But what a path this is, to open a door of
uncertainty or to remain in uncertainty for the rest of time.
I know there is no other answer to how I should proceed. I
turn the doorknob and see the truth that lies. And I muttered,
"Behind this door, truth does lie."
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| I'm going to be away due to exams and the sort....
So see you all later.
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| Here is a poem, which I wrote on my birthday. I am late to post this, but I don't think you all would mind.
The Help
She rose from her grave
Followed by a hideous red crow;
She came to me like a dream--
Large arrow shot with a small bow.
She was too far;
She was too slow.
Like the sound of a dying ogre,
Drag and thump the steps go.
She inched away with broken nails,
Blooded and torn. She fell
With a pitiful smile or a pitiful frown--
Down and down with the toll of the bell.
And amazed was the red crow,
Watching our love show.
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| I wrote another poem for another person. I think I will share it.
Red Butterfly
Oh! Sorrow of tormenting times,
Have you weaved into my mind
The sound of emptiness wrung?
Oh, sorrow you are the red butterfly.
From Hades you fly with might;
From me you drink before a fight,
Sucking the warmth from my lungs.
Oh! Sorrow you are my fright.
I pain under the "love lost."
Hardening my heart--no more lust--
I have unto You as I
A red butterfly,
Which in my mind and soul burns and cuts.
No! I will not stand
Alone.
You I will not hand
My soul.
Broken like glass, I am thrown
On floor.
Emotions--sorrow--I own,
In my core.
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| Oh, have I been away for quite a while; well, here is a poem I wrote for someone online.... TO THE PATIENT A rose under the blue-sky fever And over trepidation and forgetfulness-- The river of Lethe, a tormenting bliss-- Lay gentle in the hands of the Jester. Oh, he has a sardonic smile That can brittle a glass rose-- White, red, blue or purple. This does not matter in the most, For a rose is a flower without measure For a rose has something that you have too. | | |
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