WEBSITE: —
LOCATION: Cardiff UK
RECORDS: 62
LATEST RECORD: over 1 year ago
JOINED: February 01, 2010
LOCATION: Cardiff UK
RECORDS: 62
LATEST RECORD: over 1 year ago
JOINED: February 01, 2010
sara_nia's Featured RECords
Audio
- Halogen Dreams *a lullaby*
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Audio
- Poison Apple /Crystal Casket *piano lament*
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I imagined this song being played as snow white fell into eternal sleep after taking a bite of the poison apple, or the precession of seven dwarves following the crystal casket at her funeral.
Anyone is welcome to play around with this - vocals, strings etc!
Anyone is welcome to play around with this - vocals, strings etc!
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She keeps a pane between our fragile frames A moon and sun slot seperate One casement for our wonted woe. Behind me, the glass fogs in and out as if By the rising and falling of the boiling tides You breathe my absence. I am sick from fever. I spurn my own company. What apparitions of spirit? What manifestations? What spectres Of love keep your heart in my hands And your eyes on my ghostly Body? I am waning already. Forefronted. An old crone full of wisdom Grey and hoary behind those droplets of ocean spray. My misty breathe is cooling against glass. Give me folly and a glowing expectancy to be Inside dreaming, likewise weeping Beneath that same foolish face of silver Shattering shards of prudence; grasping eager. Let me bleed and ruin, forget forethought and musing And remember hidden gazes, thoughtless passions Not those spells of longing bound to drown Themselves or shrink against our endless margin of instance. Give me timelessness. Let me stretch myself On sheets of here and now And forever. |
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Those delicate little birds Chirping rhymes and ringlets And rustling white gauze Across the bricks. We put flowers in our hair And sit and contemplate What fleeting ghostly image Might be freedom. The men and their clipboards And their roaming hands Take notes, makes jokes. Their stare is full of some Black and manic monster Who lives in dreams In this daytime nightmare That is cast upon the collection When the medicine is brought out. A tea party, they tell us (And I’m sure we’re all guilty of murdering the time) And they are right that we are All White Queens in this dark place, and hum and trill Syringes and pills, syringes and pills. That’s the mens favourite job, you know - Putting things in us. But sometimes I can’t remember. And sometimes I don’t want to. Tomorrow is the same as today Always in the offing Lost somehow and wandering Through the corners of ourselves As if by some trick or turn The others will see our bloody fingers And take us home. Do they remember that they loved us, once Before they locked us here? The key to the asylum Can’t be far beyond Our tethered reach. Through braced doors, or red brick walls Or at the end of bodice lacing. This chunk of chalk is not my escape I know that much But I’ll pretend. (Inspired by Emilie Autumn’s Opheliac and Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls) |
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Run through. Over and over Like pin prick scars all over my body. My pale skin reflected the light Of moonbeams, once. Poetic. It has to be poetic For me to want it. And that’s the trouble. This was never in verse. This stabbing stanza Like a twisting blade. My blade. I lay claim, at least. But I cannot pull it out. Or won’t. I wonder now why It’s truly present. Why I let it rest Between my heatstrings, Plucking patient. Do they know, I wonder? Them? And are you even aware? I sometimes wonder If my moonbeams Are gone Forever. |
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Like pebbles we must Wash the wanton water from our bodies And run through streams of nights and days And empty sentences of Brimming words. Unworthy words Of guided love From faithful fate, dear friend And enemy of ours That freely gives the gift of passion To thwart the pain of place. We lie, naked and alone, Together. Hand in hand. And wait for her to smooth Our sharpened edges. |
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By candle and cobweb she lures the bats And tames them in her northern palace If she had a castle she would paint it powder blue With glitter on the doors and window frames To keep the evil out. And as the snow came tumbling All around she’d here the chiming Bluebells break the stillness of The icy dawn. Her lullaby melodies sit on the air Like ribbons. All of the crystals and butterflies making kaleidoscopes in her head. She has a starfish in a jar Feathers in her lashes A milk moth neverland Little owls and faces in the rocks Little magic mouth on the acorn moon And the fairy goblet and the star in her tiny hand Shine with twinkling dust from the attic. Her gossamer secret. The woodsy smell of Patchouli, of lavender and cypress, cedarwood and sandalwood, Neroli, tea tree and violet fills her nostrils. This is where she lives. Dreams, sings, sleeps. And takes care of the little animals. |
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Uneasy still shimmering spirits of a restless night crackle with energy we cast those shadowed forms against the edges of our world shifting vaguely in the night displacing darkness tempestuously we experience encounter encourage A strange stillness consumes devours the hesitant shade It arrives in a wave Deluge wild and dangerous above me senses swimming I'm holding my breath hurting for Enlightenment And then the lightning strikes illuminates reveals fractures the sky whilst low thunder shakes our very souls and swallows up your yielding whispers my own urgent melodies |
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