Another piece for you

Impressions of Beauty

There have been colors trapped in here
Before the dawn of time,
Before the spirits last were here,
Before the scheme of rhyme.

I’ve seen the creeping ponds of blue
That mingle on the floor
With creamy wings of swans that knew
Each signal gone before.

The yellow frost in fields of corn
Have melt to stones of green,
That gaze with passion, gaze with scorn
Upon the view, obscene.

And little spoons of childhood
Recall the blooming rose
That spins her red in soil good,
Her scents invade the nose.

Orange sits on windowsills
And orange soon may rot.
For while he sat, so ever still,
A dismal cold he caught.

The muggy bogs are filled with brown—
A muddy, messy sort—
That taints even a pagans crown
While oft disguised as sport.

And white be bold, and white be pure,
Hear now your lavish bells;
The little girl that carts manure
Lives only ‘cause it sells.

Black is bitter in revival
And terminates the day,
With sounds of dusks sweet survival
A song of nonny-neigh.

And round about the fireplace
Does Violet sing of woe,
Her lilting songs of commonplace
Rise over common throe.

Aqua pillars and marine glass,
Yet visions too must soon be passed.

Something for you writers to chew on

How's about this for a story idea, irony birthed all over again...

In the story, the protagonist is a real asshole to all he meets, nobody likes him, though they like the cause for which he stands.There is a secondary, feminine if the protagonist is male, (this could be reversed, though, the male chauvinist is the more likely route in this case.) She loves him yet he not only does not love her, but is intentionally cruel to her throughout the story. The antagonist however is amiable enough, though his intentions are inevitably evil. He loves her, but she cannot love him because, though she thinks she loves the protagonist, she really is in love with the fantasy his cause emits. Yet, through all this, neither of the main characters can help themselves in what they do because it is their destiny to be as such. It will be a novel of fates!

Interesting no?... Alright, I'll stop nerding.

Caio.

Well, have you?

Have you ever loved with the violent love of the wild goose?

I know its a tad late

Actually very very late. Belated beyond expression.

But still.... rejoice with me, my dear fellows. Indeed, we of all men most blessed upon the earth.

Robert Jordan is DEAD!!!

Never a word could tell

To put it frank, I hate cats. Look here at this lil bugger and you'll understand why

I don't know whether to say, "aww" go, "ugh" or to laugh. To put it frank, I hate cats! But now you understand my enmity with all of the feline capacity.

Except Minx... those delicate things tickle me ever so fancily.

Caio

It is... *gasp* November 15th!!

Which is the reason why I haven't really been blogging for it is, as any good lil twat this side of the globe should know, the official prose month of the year. And its already half-way through!!

Writing prose wanker, not reading.

Which is, why I haven't been on much. But that is not the only excuse... no... its been hard to even fit writing in these days. Becaaaaauuusse *long trumpet sound* I've officially moved! Yes, you heard me right, moved--not visited. I'm back in Toronto for a bit now, going to be round here till the end of the year. After that, who knows.

Romania was a blast though, the teens and young people really made the experience. Different things just weren't working out for me there so now I'm back here; but ptl eh?

Anyways, I'm just rambling... if I'm not on much this month you now know why. YEY!! November 15th!!!

Adieu, adieu, to you n' you n' you.