Rachel Weaver Poems
|7.||End Of The Song||6/7/2005|
|11.||Under The Carpet||6/5/2005|
|14.||There Is A Place||6/17/2005|
|15.||An Epigram On Living||7/10/2005|
|18.||Forget Me Not (A Balad)||7/10/2005|
|20.||The Art Of Life||6/4/2005|
Comments about Rachel Weaver
The bleak of winter leaves me among despair
Thier is only anger and chill in the air
No happiness or laughing
Just grey clouds and bleak white sky
Dont let it all take hold of you for it has a strange beauty within.
A cold beauty
Like a beautiful woman with an empty soul.
In the winter I walk the slushy streets alone
I see the children play
Making angels and happy as if it were May
They seem to love the cold
But oh how this changes when you get old
Winter is still beautiful
In that strange cold way
Everytime it comes around thou
I feel I'm going ...
I look at broken dolls sitting on the shelf
No smiles left to gaze upon, I'll curl up on the window sill with a book of ghosts, hold onto broken dollie.
Ive grown so old and so has Dollie.
The dusty curtains go right through my face.
My eyes are just like the curtains, worn, thin, but still sane.
My innocence is like tainted glass.
I can pretend but it wont last.
I cant erase the past. Dollie cant erase the past.
Dollie wants to kill me, she's been in my attic for years.