Kelly Sullivan
Social
Relationship Status
Single
Highschool
Riverdale High School
College
MTSU, until I transfer the heck out.
Interests
Renaissance faires, acting, dancing, drawing, writing, reading, poetry, stage combat, rapiers, archery, coffee and conversation, crème brûlée, France, travelling, Shakespeare, the supernatural, music, laughing, politics
Favorite Music
Classical and indie.
Move Along, People. Nothing of Content to Read Here.
August 07 2005
Well, I can't really think of anything worthwhile to say [because who wants to hear about finding corset pieces and toupee tape while rearraging a room? It's not what you think it is, I promise], but I have this urge to update.
Therefor, I'm slapping a piece of writing up here and calling my job "done." Contrary to what these might suggest, I'm not bitter.
Oh, for a rose that never dies,
Whose sweet essence fills the room,
That overwhelms the nose’s eyes
With a lover’s heady fumes.
Oh, for a heart as red and pure
As this sweet Venus-flower.
Alas, too much have I endured –
My bloom grows blacker by the hour.
Oh, for a man who’s worth a rose
And lives not in a book.
I guess, my dear, it goes to show
We needn’t bother look!
Annnnnnd another one. Because they have the same theme. Sort of. Because that one didn't take up near enough room. Because my Mom is watching Harry Potter down below. Hell, I don't know. Pick a reason.
This twisted, wrent, and wilting flower
Tearing in my fists
Reminds me with such righteous power
Wherefor my soul does twist.
Ah, this pretty rose, so fine to see
Now its petals have been shorn
Serves as a bitter memory
From whence our love was born
A gift one breathless long-since night
Before your mask was doffed
When guiding stars were shining bright –
They’re hidden now I’m lost.
This lovely rose, with petals soft
Emits its sweet and velvet scent
With such a plaintive, painful cry
That even saints repent.
The petals fall now one by one
Dying on the breeze
Such a murderous antidote becomes
This thing called "love’s" disease.
Ciao!
Therefor, I'm slapping a piece of writing up here and calling my job "done." Contrary to what these might suggest, I'm not bitter.
Oh, for a rose that never dies,
Whose sweet essence fills the room,
That overwhelms the nose’s eyes
With a lover’s heady fumes.
Oh, for a heart as red and pure
As this sweet Venus-flower.
Alas, too much have I endured –
My bloom grows blacker by the hour.
Oh, for a man who’s worth a rose
And lives not in a book.
I guess, my dear, it goes to show
We needn’t bother look!
Annnnnnd another one. Because they have the same theme. Sort of. Because that one didn't take up near enough room. Because my Mom is watching Harry Potter down below. Hell, I don't know. Pick a reason.
This twisted, wrent, and wilting flower
Tearing in my fists
Reminds me with such righteous power
Wherefor my soul does twist.
Ah, this pretty rose, so fine to see
Now its petals have been shorn
Serves as a bitter memory
From whence our love was born
A gift one breathless long-since night
Before your mask was doffed
When guiding stars were shining bright –
They’re hidden now I’m lost.
This lovely rose, with petals soft
Emits its sweet and velvet scent
With such a plaintive, painful cry
That even saints repent.
The petals fall now one by one
Dying on the breeze
Such a murderous antidote becomes
This thing called "love’s" disease.
Ciao!
