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Date Posted: 06:41:15 09/13/02 Fri
Author: [ v a l i e n t e ]
Subject: [ roll out the red c a r p e t ]
In reply to: † r a i † o r 's message, ". what's this? ." on 04:45:41 09/13/02 Fri

.let's get this right.

a painting hangs on an ivy wall
nestled in the emerald moss
eyes declare a true soft trust
then it draws me from myself

deep in the desert by star light
sand dunes and birds in flight
darkness lays a crimson cloak
and lets me call, call me yours

- - - - - - - - - -

the east wind, guardian and silent in its pagan gusts, cloaks the form of the ancients, standing, milling, about the gargantuan courtyards. clouds, dreams, the wiccan drums once again take upon their calling works in the crimson evening, the fading of sunlight the only trait of timekeeping. the others, stolid shapes of ivy and stone, stand guard upon the outskirts, the reveled guardians of Avalon and all those who live within. the mists part, not by earthly request, but by the interpid souls nestled within their soft depths, the swirling clouds taking control of destiny, the seperation of this world from that. it is a welcoming banquet, the proverbial red carpet and a formal invitation to step loftily into the earth-bound cumulus, joining the astronomers and druids in their works and personal achievements.

.you have heard the whispers upon the wind, the pages calling forth for the coming of the queen, but she is lost in the mists, forgotten to time and to you. they beckon, calling, inviting you into her world, the world of intent, of power, and of a glory that will exist long after her death. forward, forward, trudging the long road to both her and your fate, entangled in a singular moment and ripped asunder in following. she would not claim the beauty of the grecian goddesses, nor would she look with disgust upon the fair visage of venus. she has been blessed, the culmination of a journey through time and space, losing and gaining until she has been rendered a prophet, a force, and a queen at her every turn. you request acceptance, and it is she that retains it in her very grasp, you ask for power and it is she that allows it to flow freely from her body. she is enumerable, silent and a legend in her own time, looking over her graced body at you, gazing and determining worth, determining use, determining her own selfish desire. she is imperfect, but all mortals are imperfect, be they priestess or queen. gaze upon the legend you've heard of so often, and take your leave.

.you are welcome amongst my lands.

- - - - - - - - - -

[ v a l i e n t e ]
she o absolution

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