⊆ 7:13 AM by Pete | ˜ 2 comments »
Discordant the hues, of the jingle-bell blues
As snowflakes adrift in the wake of a moon
Despondent a man, upon a snow-white satire..
Despondent a man, beneath a snow-crusted spire.
To him, is fate, things not to be
To him, is fate, a winter's touch
To him is fate, within the pale-white pall
Pale-white pall for a fall
Silent and cold and still
A touch of salvation's full.
His thoughts to self, what dreams have I?
-a slice bit through his skin-
What dreams have I? no more
buried beneath a winter's past
What dreams have I? to wait in vain
all emptied, all hollowed
All gone, asunder, away my grasping breath!
Who wields my fate? and tears away
Who deigns it be, the relief of his release?
Beneath a white-bleached sky he lay,
a crumpled heap- A bag,
a pile of skin and bones-
a dagger to his throat-
I left him there,sans hands in pocket
Cold as a winter's grasp
Heard I, a cry, a whimpered hymn
-I whistled it too-
A happy tune it was... melodious,
as the jingle-bell blues.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010 at 9:52:00 PM PDT Separation is a prerequisite of love... But you know this already, i am certain. Or maybe that i what you mean in your lamentations? BTW, all that pics on the right hand column. Are that yours?
Don't mind me, I am the cat that got killed because of his curiosity. Take care, my friend.
Monday, July 19, 2010 at 7:01:00 PM PDT You mean those pics with little descriptions under them? Nah, they're not mine.. I put them there just to give this site a magazine-like 'feel'. Outdated as they are :) Take care! (& you still hv 8 lives left!)
-pete