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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Jul 19, 2005 4:46:28 GMT -5
Born a Witch
Closing my eyes, I see the ghosts. Happy times I cherish most. Of a simple child’s hope. Just to be able to cope.
Daily, righteous ones yell and scream. To break my will, destroy my dreams. Holding steadfast I must try. A small mind wondering why.
Heretic, heathen, demon child, spawn. You should never have been born. Surrounded by voices, harmed by hands. Loved ones hiding heads in the sand.
The will was not broken. Nor the soul forsaken. A wiser adult I walk as now. Refusing to let my pride be bowed.
Embracing the moon, power of the night. She is a friend, the giver of light. To nature’s forces my heart I did hitch. Born and bred, a true witch.
Created July 19, 2005
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Aug 4, 2005 1:38:42 GMT -5
To Forgive and Forget, Not Likely
How does one forgive the unforgettable? Knowing the harmer is unregrettable. Used as a scapegoat since birth. Absorbing all the pain and hurt.
Woe at the birth, a girl, not a son. A child its mother would curse and shun. Begging for death of this unwanted kin. Blaming it for her very own sin.
The child she kept to use as a shield. N’er giving a hug, or cooking a meal. Few cared for this unloved girl. Her mother pointing out a tarnished pearl.
This child sought her mother’s touch. Just a smile, kind word, not asking too much. But n’er it did come, only a turned back. Blame that filled an eternal sack.
Older, the girl into womanhood grew. Wondering why her mother was a shrew. Criticism at a daily pace. N’er to win love’s race.
Now, gray haired mother demands much care. Not sorry for causing dreadful despair. Ruining her life, she accuses her child. But she made the choices all the while.
A grown woman sees the truth. In her mother’s face and words, all the proof. N’er could she ever forget the blame. N’er could she ever forgive the pain.
Created August 4, 2005
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Nov 15, 2005 23:47:14 GMT -5
Inspiration
And so I sit by the tall windows of this sunny room. Autumn breeze lifting leaves from branches soon. Light flickering and flashing as if in signals A soothing afternoon as sleep lulls.
Dreams swiftly take up the mind’s embrace. Dashing images, a wild ride and chase. Unknown people and places to recall. Mountain cliffs, losing balance, the fall.
Awake, startled, what is that noise? Fight or flight, the body is poised. A tap at the window, quickly whirl. Laugh of delight, tis only a squirrel.
Looking at the clock, time moves by. Soon he’ll be home, a heartfelt sigh To love and be loved, tis a great joy. Shy and bold, daring and coy.
And so, pencil to paper I hold. Words in my mind, a poem to mold. All around, a story to be told. The joy of living, a wonder to behold.
Life, love, the world doest conspire. Creative thought and dreams doest inspire. Ah muse, you do me good. Happiness abounds, as it should.
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Jan 5, 2006 2:32:23 GMT -5
Silent Sentinel
Long, endless hallways leading nowhere. Shadows slithering seemingly without care. A sudden sound makes the heart twitch. Gasp for air causing a painful stitch.
Walking, walking, no one around. Alone, a guardian, hearing every sound. Creaking door, blinking light. Peaking round corners, keep out of sight.
Night, the silent sentinel keeps vigil. Particles of soul left as residual. Sensing, catching the slightest move. Stillness, the nerves will soothe.
Again, the sound, down the darkest hall. Skittering, crash, the skin does pall. Stay away, do not be forsaken. Run, before your soul, too is taken.
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Feb 6, 2006 23:51:39 GMT -5
Nightly Quest
Misty rain floats among the evergreens. Obsuring branches reaching to grab. Scurrying feet upon still moist leaves. Raising senses, ever watchful.
Slowly they walk through the haze. No fear, vigilant, set on a task. Snap of a branch directs amber eyes. Watching the prey as it parallels by.
Downward they stay, divide and conquer. He is strong, she is fastest. The swift one commands the pace. To the mighty one, the victim does race.
Out of shadows, he emerges now. Clamp of jaws upon a fine neck. Wild eyes daze, a red, frothy scream. Mates feast for another dark night.
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Feb 24, 2006 5:32:28 GMT -5
The Village Sacrifice
Winding through the forest primeval. A path leads to the dragon’s lair. In these times, so dark and medieval. A sacrifice of the most lady faire.
In yon village, a lottery held. No daughter spared, poor or rich. At noon, hear the tolling bell. She is chosen, all wonder which.
Upon each left wrist is tattooed a mark. In a barrel, the picking stones are cast. All gather, silent, not even dogs bark. Three slanted lines choose the lass.
Wails from family, she grabs for her dad. Waiting guards come to her side. Villagers hide relief behind faces of sad. A waiting cart will be her final ride.
To the gnarled oak the cart does go. No further will other folk wander. She walks alone, feet moving slow. Silently, her fate she must ponder.
At his entrance, hesitate. She calls to him, “Come, I am here.” “Why”, she asks, “must this be my fate?” His deep voice answers, “I am none to fear.”
Large is he as he exits his lair. Stares down at the maiden, standing proud. Comely face, silken hair. “You will not be wearing death’s shroud.”
From clawed hand three gemstones fall. “Take them, you bear the mark of three.” Perplexed, wrapping the stones in her shawl. “Go seek a new life, from me you are free.”
“To your village you cannot return.” “Unless you seek death from your kind.” “For as a witch you will now be burned.” “As only magic can release the bind.”
Storm clouds darken the sky. Nodding, turning to go, she understood. Yet could not help but begin to cry. Missing her village beyond the wood.
The dragon sighs, as only a dragon can. A wisp of ashen smoke, his nostrils flair. He thinks, oh how stupid this creature called man. For a meal, why not an ox and mare?
#dragon#
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Post by MjolnirH on Feb 27, 2006 23:03:26 GMT -5
interesting twist, I like it. she's a witch that would have been perssecuted by her own people anyway?
the whole lottery theme has that Dragonslayer theme to it ;D
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Apr 6, 2006 23:35:02 GMT -5
interesting twist, I like it. she's a witch that would have been perssecuted by her own people anyway? the whole lottery theme has that Dragonslayer theme to it ;D Actually, what the dragon was explaining to her is that to come back from his den alive, you must have placed some sort of magic upon him, and being a magic user was a no-no in the village, so they would have assumed she was a witch and burned her. Dragonslayer, good movie, and I can see the comparison. But now for something completely different................. The DominatrixLeather, my second skin. Lacey gloves, transparently thin. Spike heels tap upon the floor. Smiling, knowing you'll beg for more. Cuffs enclose your manly wrists. Anticipation, hands balled into fists. Snap!! Hear the whip unbound. Snap!! Your pleasure is found. "Yes Mistress", say it again!! I am your master, not your friend. Please me with your cries of pain. Giving you more, I will not refrain. Done, sated, limp against the pole. Punished, forgiven, cleansing of your soul. "Thank you Mistress", a whispered tone. Resting now, fallen prone. Upon one knee, fingers pinch his cheek. "You're sniveling, pathetic, oh so weak." "Thank you Mistress", he can barely speak. "Quite welcome, see you same time, next week."
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on May 4, 2006 4:39:24 GMT -5
Wicked Saviour
Out of mist, predicted, he shall come. Truth, Lie, Righteousness, Evil; all to be undone. Deceiving looks, aura of prince, soul of nave. Creature of destruction, Angel who will save.
He walks, head held high and proud. Soft whisper of voice, not arrogantly loud. Words carry upon the wind, a gentle tease. Soothing to the soul, mind fills with ease.
To his hands you give yourself. Claws strip the skin to make a pelt. Screams fill the night, As he moans with delight.
The one of his desire; outcast and deformed. Revenge against all those who scorned. Upon her he lays the pelt. A new body, the old skin will melt.
Day comes, hidden by the mist. Vengence upon a nameless list. Eyes scan to find the prey. All will suffer this faithless day.
A woman with child cries for help. From her belly is torn her whelp. Old men pray to their god, As they are trampled into the sod.
Before day is done, the mist will rise. Blood filled street is indeed the prize. Not a moan, nor a groan, As the dead line the road to their home.
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Post by MjolnirH on May 4, 2006 22:50:48 GMT -5
The DominatrixLeather, my second skin. Lacey gloves, transparently thin. Spike heels tap upon the floor. Smiling, knowing you'll beg for more. Cuffs enclose your manly wrists. Anticipation, hands balled into fists. Snap!! Hear the whip unbound. Snap!! Your pleasure is found. "Yes Mistress", say it again!! I am your master, not your friend. Please me with your cries of pain. Giving you more, I will not refrain. Done, sated, limp against the pole. Punished, forgiven, cleansing of your soul. "Thank you Mistress", a whispered tone. Resting now, fallen prone. Upon one knee, fingers pinch his cheek. "You're sniveling, pathetic, oh so weak." "Thank you Mistress", he can barely speak. "Quite welcome, see you same time, next week." Working out some issues are we? #whiphang#
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on May 5, 2006 1:53:30 GMT -5
Nah, just bored at work, so developing another hobby. ;D
With Lady Heather from CSI-Las Vegas as a role model, well I do believe I'll be good at this dominatrix thing. #whiphang#
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Post by MjolnirH on May 9, 2006 2:25:17 GMT -5
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Oct 6, 2006 3:52:32 GMT -5
Desert Working
These sands know no hourglass. Years of time seen to pass. Bleached bones of those done dying. Scorpion hides while spying.
Among the red rocks, drawings are found. Indian tribe driven from sacred ground. Kokopeli plays his mystic flute. Healing lands, the spirits did suit.
Walk the desert, soft breeze caress the skin. Noble people, not mine, yet like kin. Release the illness, soothe the flesh. My soul, with the spirits, did mesh.
Hold the stones, feel the power inside. Lie upon the rocks, let time slide. Renewed, a fresh healthy start. The desert, now deep in my heart.
October 6, 2006
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Nov 3, 2006 6:11:28 GMT -5
Rescue
Cold, tired, losing desire. Seeking warmth, distand fire. Walking slowly, heavy feet just shuffle. Silent scream, throat dry and muffled.
Small clearing, flickering shadows on trees. Pushing them to move, buckling knees. Low voices, ghostly stories being shared. Nostrils flare, eyes open wide to stare.
Falling, strong arms take me. Darkness comes, dimming eyes hardly see. Pulling closer, those arms to the fire. Mind fighting, cold and death do conspire.
Ah, the warmth feeds my bones. From parched lips, soft moans. Not alone anymore, no fear to keep. Guardians of the night, watch over as I sleep.
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Post by Lady Winter Wolf on Dec 8, 2006 10:14:01 GMT -5
The Balance Ball
Come forth darkness, heed the call. Both young and old walk this hall. Come forth those of fallen grace. Sit beside those of heavenly face.
Music plays, a dance begins. Non-judgmental of those with sin. A smile, a nod, a wink of knowing. All are happy, faces glowing.
Arise, go forth hand in hand. Instruments in flight, invisible band. Demon, Angel, Wizard, Witch. Dance in time, steps without a hitch.
For all that is dark, there is light. For all that is wrong, there is right. The Balance Ball, a daily event. To those of open minds, the invitation is sent.
Will you RSVP?
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