It nearly kills me when you're afar!
My life is only a dim shadow
And you are all the light in my universe
You control my entire existence
Without you, I'd be no more!
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Road To Her Dreams
The night was dark
not a star in sight
but her hair reflected the sliver
The sliver of silver
that hung in the sky
while the wind caused the grass to quiver
Her gown was torn
her feet were bare
but in a steady gait she carried on
On towards the hills
and the lakes and the vale
where all her dreams were born
She hurried her step
then broke into a run
then stopped dead in her tracks
Skin hitting gravel
Pain shooting through
blood seeping out of the cracks
She moved on again
egged on by her dreams
and happiness farther in sight
She smiled to herself
as she neared her goal
on that dark and starless night
not a star in sight
but her hair reflected the sliver
The sliver of silver
that hung in the sky
while the wind caused the grass to quiver
Her gown was torn
her feet were bare
but in a steady gait she carried on
On towards the hills
and the lakes and the vale
where all her dreams were born
She hurried her step
then broke into a run
then stopped dead in her tracks
Skin hitting gravel
Pain shooting through
blood seeping out of the cracks
She moved on again
egged on by her dreams
and happiness farther in sight
She smiled to herself
as she neared her goal
on that dark and starless night
The Highwayman - My Version
Galloping through the dusty road
Hooves kicking up grainy smoke
His had skewed at a rakish angle
His cape bellowing behind
He stopped at a barn, not far from the trail.
Got down from his horse, when the moonlight was pale.
He stepped to her window
Peeped in from the window
And so began the tale.
What went on between them
Is a secret untold.
It was love, oh so dark,
This the legends hold
He died for this love
She died for this love
They died for this love
But left a story behind
Of a love that was bold.
Hooves kicking up grainy smoke
His had skewed at a rakish angle
His cape bellowing behind
He stopped at a barn, not far from the trail.
Got down from his horse, when the moonlight was pale.
He stepped to her window
Peeped in from the window
And so began the tale.
What went on between them
Is a secret untold.
It was love, oh so dark,
This the legends hold
He died for this love
She died for this love
They died for this love
But left a story behind
Of a love that was bold.
The Highwayman
One of my all-time favorite poems... The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
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.
Dark in the dark 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 black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
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."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
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 by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle 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."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at 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 in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, 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 redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
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.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and 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.
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 in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on 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 gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
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.
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
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.
Dark in the dark 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 black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
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."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
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 by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle 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."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at 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 in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, 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 redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
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.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and 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.
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 in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on 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 gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
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.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Sugar Surge
I am totally high on sugarrrr right now. High enough to touch the moon, high enough to get admitted to the ICU when I fall down. Ooookay, so I am sitting on the floor, looking out the window with glucose flooding my blood and random crap flooding my brain. Hmmm so let’s analyze the random crap:
I got a pocketful of sunshine, I got a love and I know that it’s all mine.
*(ahem ahem, sunshine? In my pocket? Puh-leeze! Natasha Beddingfield’s cheesy motivational song. I don’t know whether my love is all mine…. That’s because I don’t have a love. Go figure. And I’d rather have moonshine in my pocket, it’s more exciting =P)*
Parametric functions
*(AAAARRRGGHH!! Math! I. Hate. Math. Absolutely hate it! Enough said?)*
Sheep!
*(My sheep be so adorable =D. No, I’m not taking shepherding as a career choice, nor am I making a business out of selling wool. My sheep are the ones on my cell phone display. Yup, I got me a new wallpaper. Fluffy, white, dumb-looking sheep on a bright green patch of grass. Cuuuute!)*
Whataya want from me
*(Once upon a time I didn’t give a damn but now… here we are… so Whataya want from me…
This isn’t random and this isn’t crap. Adam Lambert plays pure magic on me. Voice, look, personality, man does he have everything. Just minus the kohl and being gay part. And the song is kind of situational right now. At least the title is…Whataya want from me? That’s a question I’d like to ask a few people at the moment.)*
Pink, Blue, Green, Blue, Repeat
*(I’m doing the embroidery stint these days and that’s the basic color scheme. It’s actually very pretty. The stitch is simple, the colors are fun and surprisingly I’m having fun doing it. Just thinking about the end result is getting me all revved up to finish it quickly.)*
Joe Bloggs
*(My new best friend. That’s on the advice of my SAT guidebook. Joe is an average student who gets the easy questions right and the hard ones wrong. I’m supposed to be his best friend so that I can cheat off his paper, and do exactly the opposite of what he does on the hard questions. Weird, huh? I know.)*
©
I got a pocketful of sunshine, I got a love and I know that it’s all mine.
*(ahem ahem, sunshine? In my pocket? Puh-leeze! Natasha Beddingfield’s cheesy motivational song. I don’t know whether my love is all mine…. That’s because I don’t have a love. Go figure. And I’d rather have moonshine in my pocket, it’s more exciting =P)*
Parametric functions
*(AAAARRRGGHH!! Math! I. Hate. Math. Absolutely hate it! Enough said?)*
Sheep!
*(My sheep be so adorable =D. No, I’m not taking shepherding as a career choice, nor am I making a business out of selling wool. My sheep are the ones on my cell phone display. Yup, I got me a new wallpaper. Fluffy, white, dumb-looking sheep on a bright green patch of grass. Cuuuute!)*
Whataya want from me
*(Once upon a time I didn’t give a damn but now… here we are… so Whataya want from me…
This isn’t random and this isn’t crap. Adam Lambert plays pure magic on me. Voice, look, personality, man does he have everything. Just minus the kohl and being gay part. And the song is kind of situational right now. At least the title is…Whataya want from me? That’s a question I’d like to ask a few people at the moment.)*
Pink, Blue, Green, Blue, Repeat
*(I’m doing the embroidery stint these days and that’s the basic color scheme. It’s actually very pretty. The stitch is simple, the colors are fun and surprisingly I’m having fun doing it. Just thinking about the end result is getting me all revved up to finish it quickly.)*
Joe Bloggs
*(My new best friend. That’s on the advice of my SAT guidebook. Joe is an average student who gets the easy questions right and the hard ones wrong. I’m supposed to be his best friend so that I can cheat off his paper, and do exactly the opposite of what he does on the hard questions. Weird, huh? I know.)*
©
Monday, July 5, 2010
Passion's Promise
The aroma of passion
lifts me up to Heaven
rips through me, tears me apart
surges in my blood,
shoots up my nerves
intoxicating my being,
setting me free.
lifts me up to Heaven
rips through me, tears me apart
surges in my blood,
shoots up my nerves
intoxicating my being,
setting me free.
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