Where did she go?
In the stagnant night, the rattle of a keyboard and rustle of fervent page-turning can be heard.
When, if ever, will she
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the window of my family's old farm house
You know too much... I am afraid I am going to have to kill you now..
- Miss Elizabeth
- Manhattan, Kansas, United States
- I'm a silvery cloud with a dark lining. Sometimes I reflect... and sometimes I shine. And when its too dark for anyone to see, I may even rain. But most importantly, I am clearly not a pineapple.
3 comments:
Existence is not given to mere mortals, we become, but never are.
When we are, we are no longer mortal, but nevertheless, not quite alive either.
However, your becoming exists, in a fashion that strikes my fancy, be it that I wished it to be filled with more happyness. Even though that same happyness would probably leave you becoming less obvious to these wretched souls stalking you as fervent as your shadow. Stalking though, is a skill that these days can not often be used in a benign way, therefore it fills others with anxiety. A stalker, as it happends, is not a hunter, even when both stalk, the stalker remains stalking, as one with his target as the target's shadow, where the hunter strikes, ending the becoming of the prey, and making it his own.
As always, yours senseless ...
I may better not be a senseless arse for a few seconds ... ;
... it's a dream afraid of waking, that never takes a chance ...
.. but remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snow.
Lies a seed, that with the suns warmth, in the springtime, becomes a rose.
"Men zegt van liefde dat ze zacht is
Als een lief en teder woord
Men zegt van liefde dat ze hard is
En zo vaak het geluk vermoord
Men noemt haar hunker en verlangen
Men noemt haar redder in nood
Ik zeg dat liefde als een bloem is
Waarop de zon haar stralen strooit
Ze is het hart zo bang en breekbaar
Zo wankel en zo broos
Ze is de droom bang voor ‘t ontwaken
Omdat ze dan de waarheid hoort
Ze wacht op wie haar nu willen plukken
Op wie haar tranen steelt
Zo bang om vroeg te sterven
Voor ze werkelijk heeft geleefd
En is de nacht zo koud en eenzaam
Duurt het wachten veel te lang
Denk dan maar dat geluk alleen is
Voor wie er hevig naar verlangt
Denk dan maar dat bittere winters
En dikke lagen sneeuw
Nog nooit hebben verhinderd
Dat de roos hen overleeft."
- Ann Christie; 'De Roos'
The hungry wolves howl for you Liz. Listen for them. ;)
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