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While wandering on the everlasting strand
A thought came into my head
Boiling like a mixing pot, as if it always had been
An idea caressed my thinkings
And I doubt I had ever felt what I did
For the Earth turned on an end
And every soul was flung off
As gravity took its deathly toll
The world was once again empty
But then I awoke from my dream
And I wandered through the streets
Not afraid to stand my ground
And share my three meters on the train
For it is as it should always be
Though I sometimes wish for change
Taking steps on the thin line
Outside my driveway, the road curves on
And it seems to walk away forever into eternity
That is where I place my hopes
Wishing they were on a tree instead
Growing on that tree would be the hopes
The hopes I would rather have growing
Than fading in the distance
And as I walk upon that empty strand
I search for the hopes I have lost in my dream.
 Caterina · Sat Jan 07, 2006 @ 06:27am · 0 Comments |
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London sat on the sand, wondering what was going to come next.
First there was the plane crash.
Next the rain storm.
Then the aligators.
The plane crash was forgivable. The wing cracked under the atmospheric pressure, besides, he landed in the water. He was okay.
The rainstorm was even understandable. He was in a tropical area. It was bound to rain. The rain wasn't even cold anyways, it was rather warm and refreshing.
But the aligators were just too much.
He could have really done without the alligators.
Caterina · Sat Nov 26, 2005 @ 07:45am · 1 Comments |
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Ok, I take it back.
Caterina · Mon Nov 07, 2005 @ 05:25am · 0 Comments |
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Teenagers suck.
All of them.
Me included.
But mostly them.
I am telling you. I can't wait until I am old enought to be considered an adult. Hello 40's. I dont care if I'm old or whatever, I just cant stand being a teenager.
Teenager's are bitches.
All they do is ruin your life.
All friends do is ruin your life.
Even if they seem to be important to you in the beginning, all they really do is turn on you in the end.
Face it, it's true, there is not a single friend you will end up with in the end.
Maybe one that seems like a friend, but really isnt.
They never are.
All they want is to use you as a freaking place holder until they find someone better.
Friends is a nonexistant term.
It's more like... paper plates.
They place everything they have on you, and you hold it all up for them. But they greedily eat all your trust away, and just throw you away in the garbage in the end.
That is what it's like.
I'm done with them.
I'd rather just give it all up, rather than keep on trying.
Hanging on by a few threads is way to hard.
I thought it was changed.
I thought it would be better.
Well, screw them.
I was changing.
I was getting better.
******** it all.
Caterina · Sun Nov 06, 2005 @ 10:41pm · 1 Comments |
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Counting the silohettes pass by, she suddenly realized it.
She realized that there were many takers amongst the crowd.
She found that they had eyes of steel, plundering through the waves.
There were shadows, cast about the ground, reeled along the breakers,
by the hook of a grand venture.
Teeming with prospect and prosperity, the market grew into a storm,
waving wildly at the oceans edge, waiting to invade.
Seething mouths full of bids flooded the air with threats of shop.
Wandering eyes stood watchful on the shore, shaking the tree,
to see if any fruit would drop.
And when some did, a rush was made, a great rush to step upon,
and gain whatever one could gain.
A quick hand made plenty rich.
While the throat seared with the smoke and spice, speared upon
the morning's jab.
She realized that there was only one to give.
And with many to take, to steal, to steer,
she found herself an item upon the shelf.
Caterina · Thu Oct 20, 2005 @ 06:25am · 0 Comments |
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Please comment on my journal entries!
It shows that they have been veiwed!
It really helps to know what other people think Of what I write.
Thanks!
Caterina · Fri Oct 14, 2005 @ 05:20am · 0 Comments |
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Please continue to call my name,
so perhaps by the sound of your voice,
I can return home without facing,
much of the peril which may await.
The fog is thick, but I hear the wail of the loon,
the song of the lark, the hoot of the owl,
but within that, your voice is present,
throughout the noise, my name is called to me,
and beyond the roots, and narrow cracks,
of night, the clouds covering the light,
I finally return home without facing,
much of the peril that may have awaited,
me in the dark forest of my dreams.
Caterina · Sun Oct 09, 2005 @ 08:30am · 0 Comments |
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They children in the attic would stare out the window,
looking at the world below through a filter of frost.
The five who shared the floor and dust,
the shallow curves of the morning light.
They were left with crumbs of meals,
once too light to feed the mice.
They were clothed with the grey of the elephants back.
A strong hand willed them out ten weeping eyes.
The tears would come so suddenly that they would hardly be their own.
Maria would pray every night, that the sorrow would go,
she would scrape her knees for hours,
on the parched and heavy boards.
She would knead her hands in knots of prayer,
until they were cramped with use.
Daphne would fix her stare out the frosty pane,
on constant vigilance, wide and open, checking for a stranger,
although far few but none came.
Often she would distract the thoughts that were true,
and fall into a dream, woken by the hands of the children,
cold and shocked from what she'd seen.
Florence would stack himself within the corner of the room,
counting the minutes, the hours, the days.
Ticking away the empty stomach, the pain, the providence lost.
He soon filled his corner dark with charcoal and memories.
Rapheal held his post at the door, reserved and ready to pounce.
His word was taken when boots were heard, his record,
true and painful, like the skipping of a song.
His face slammed hard with a bruise of tomorrows witness.
Kyrie lays on the bed, in constant silohette
She took it first and cried until the sheets ran with an ocean,
of the whitest drops of prose.
Occasionaly a song could be heard from the depths.
Chanting out amoung the five.
One to tell the lord.
Two to chime the bell.
Three to count the hours.
Four to keep the post.
Five to cry the tears.
Caterina · Fri Sep 30, 2005 @ 05:39am · 0 Comments |
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Cast into the flames,
my little one of nothing.
You had no real substance,
and now it is but ash.
You took what was needed,
although you needed none.
I remember your face as it were,
as it was as always.
Cast into the forgoten, stream,
where dolls always seem to go,
when their mistresses turn,
nine, or ten or twelve.
You think that is is not,
something that we pride.
But we are all ones to wish,
to go up and not down.
You pulled down like a weight,
wrought from the oldest iron,
scraping, pounding, sawing,
I had to escape.
Yet your lips were so poised,
your eyes full of spirit,
which you never once closed.
I admire that you refrained from,
the screaming that is often heard.
I admire that you never complained,
even before in times of quiet.
Infact, I admire you to such,
great extent, that I now shall,
pick you from the flames,
and claim you as my own.
Once more.
Caterina · Thu Sep 29, 2005 @ 05:59am · 0 Comments |
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