I am the author of an on-going paranormal fictional series titled Secrets of Syn. You can purchase a bound copy of chapters 1 - 35 through Amazon by following the link in the side bar.
In this witchy series the main character, Angie, an angsty teenager with a fractured psyche and unusual abilities direct descendant of Abigail Williams of Salem fame, identifies herself as a poetess. I've decided to share some of Angie's writings with you this week because honestly, her words are my own. I hope you enjoy.
In this witchy series the main character, Angie, an angsty teenager with a fractured psyche and unusual abilities direct descendant of Abigail Williams of Salem fame, identifies herself as a poetess. I've decided to share some of Angie's writings with you this week because honestly, her words are my own. I hope you enjoy.
| Elegy The music is moving, Answers without questions, Smooth and melodic as waves, Whose arms reach out, In the silence of angry desperation under summer stars. I remember, The rotten smell of sweat on lace dresses, The yellow of stains, the hot putrid smelling breath, I’ve never seen God, he’s not my salvation. No spoken prayer aloud. Nothing without lyrics, No Will, no purpose and dead. Dead empty, left out in the rain, the tears, That wet my cheeks from empty eyes. No spoken prayer in silence. The salvation of the melody, Dancing in circles in my room? Harmony? Or feeling the melodic beat, Of completeness within the refrain of others, The wild bards, those - Whose psyches are so full they are joyful. The woman in her dark, metal cage, Beneath the dirt of her skin, Is there no grand escape, only captivity? Does the music, Feel the dancer move to it? Spirit leaks from the flesh, The mind of the body spins, the eyes tear, The girl moans in sorrow. The music throbs in the ears. The dark closes in, it is midnight. She is alive | Mistress Dissonance Dissonance lingers about my spirit Mistress Dissonance, she is so foul! The black and crimson gems of her blood cover The floor, the mirrors, Are filling with ghosts. What is so empty as this heart of mine? An angel’s weep may be distressing, But it holds no power. Cymbalta makes everything fine, so the doctor says. Drugs are a necessary evil, They are gems of life. O dissonance, dissonance, Sweetly tearing my soul asunder! My Tiffany necklace, gold chains, Will be tightened later, strangling. And there you sing, with a low note of C, Long breath held. The singers’ voices are decrees, There is no stopping me. I am living a lie, dead within. |
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