Thursday, April 27, 2006

Rainy Day



Rainy Day,

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

The Taste



The Taste
By Succubus

I suck the juice right out of life,
And spit out empty husks.
My appetite’s voracious,
There never is enough.

I always seek for more and more,
My eyes turn yet again;
In my greed and neediness,
I kill all joy that’s been.

The sweetest fruit will lose its taste,
The sweetest passions die;
My mouth is full of dust and death—
I’ve not even depth to cry.

I swallow down another bite,
Life slice by slice,
Chocking on the tasteless mix
That was my passion’s price.

Friday, April 21, 2006



Caminando en la soledad de un camino invisible
gotea sobre mi frente un liquido que a la luz
torma rojo mi semblante.
El rojo semblante de una esperanza inecua
en el cual un muñeco de trapo detiene el hilo de mi alma
hilo cortado por la navaja de un amor de negro manto
y de blanca tez con el arma que detestan las almas que de ella
fueron arrojadas a un avismo en el cual mi mano detiene

la punta rocosa del inicio del avismo
y solo siento........nada ya no siento nada
dentro de la obscuridad de mi alma...

AZAQUY D` BERUBER

Un escrito de mi hermano mayor



Saturday, April 15, 2006

Redemption


Your form which result gently to sky
what else can i do, besides abvenge you?
Until my tears dried up.
I watched it for the longest time
And the sorrow overflowing from the stigma which can't be erased
I swore that
I Would never forget itI'll flap my broken Wing
And erase it all some day
You will see
Until the last bell ringing the dirge stops
You told me to live as if you were to die tomorrow
Feel as if you were to be reborn now
Faces as if you were to live forever
Red tears traced by a trembling finger
I had nothing to lose, nothind truth
It crashes through the darl oblivion
The Last smile floats and disappears
And the warmth is all that's left
Your kind gentle words
Cannot heal me now
This body is only dedicated
To the figth going on eternally
Because everryone returns to the Sky some day
You'll never need to say goodbye
Make it up!
I'll Flap my broken wing
And erase it all some day
You will see
Until the last bell ringing the dirge stops
Your kind and gentle words
Cannot heal me now
This Body os only dedicated
To the fight going on eternally
Redemption...
Redemption...

Thursday, April 13, 2006


Primer video que pongo, nada que ver con el blog, solo para "calarlo"

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Spirits of the Dead



Spirits of the Dead
Edgar Allan poe

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.

How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
Μου κλέψατε τις λέξεις!
Ό,τι μου άνηκε το κομματιάσατε.
Τώρα γελάτε.
Μα το γέλιο μου είναι πιο δυνατό.



Saturday, April 08, 2006

War...


White Dove

War is here again
Holding a flaming rain
Spreading hate and pain
And happiness in her prison
Does she remain.
Crowds die
Children cry
And birds silently fly.
People kill others
No matter if they are sisters and brothers
No regret do they feel
They just hate and kill.
Weapons do they keep
Violence is all they think.
Please let free the little white dove
The bird of peace and love.
Take flowers instead of guns.
Start singingInstead of weeping.
Please wake up
The little white dove
The bird of peace and love.
Interrupt its long sleep
And force it to sing
.
Don’t just make a wish
Upon a falling star.
Hold its light to your hand
And light up the dove’s cell.
Please people, don’t cry and yell
Don’t hate and kill
Your lives with harmony try to fill.
Stop the fight
And try to reach the light.
The little white dove
The bird of peace and love
Do go and release
Just to give a chance to peace.

Humor

Fifty sure-fire ways to detect paganism without having to resort to a dunking stool or wart-inspection.

1) Never puts any rubbish out on refuse-collection day. I mean, re-cycling and composting is fine, but you can take it too far.

2) You casually ask what phase the moon is in, and she tells you down to the exact number of days, hour and minute of rising, position on horizon, and current angle of declination.

3) All the stray cats in the neighbourhood tend to congregate in her garden (and use your own as their litter).

4) A screech owl has chosen the lamp-post outside her house as its favorite calling-post. That's just when it's getting warm at night and you like to sleep with the window open.

5) Doesn't cut down the weeds in her garden; in fact it looks more like she's cultivating them. Needless to say, you get the seeds wafting over onto your pristine lawn.6) Most of her clothes on the washing line are black.

7) The local kids talk in whispers as they go past her house, then start running at the last moment.

8) Nobody trick-or-treats her house; not after the incident when the kids' costumes were less scary than hers when she opened the door to them. (She was embracing the Crone that year no doubt!)

9) Footprints on the roof. And the trees in her flight-path have been pruned down. I swear it's true!

10) She can't even make a simple sandwich without adding fresh herbs to it. And don't ask her for a cup of tea unless you want something yellow coloured and smelling of flowers.

11) She hardly ever gets junk mail. You ask her what her secret is and she confides that she returns it to sender after writing something on in strange curly writing.

12) When you pop next door for a chat, the kettle is always already on.

13) The Jehovah's Witnesses never call (not anymore; not after the last time :-).

14) Keeps the local scented-candle shop solvent.

15) Has a pond full of frogs (and you haven't seen that bothersome double-glazing salesman around for a while).

16) She's always smiling, darn her!

17) She goes dressed as normal to a Hallowe'en fancy dress party; and wins first prize.

18) Her house always smells of incense.

19) Has named her four cats Hecate, Kali, Diana, and Moonbeam. (Or her rats Devon and Cornwall)

º20) Her bumper sticker reads "I brake for toads".

21) Frequently gets raided by the drug squad who confiscate large amounts of dried green leaves; they always return them with apologies after analysis.

22) At Christmas, it seems like half the garden has been moved into the house.

23) You sometimes hear the sound of singing and dancing through the wall. If you look out of the window, it is usually a full moon.

24) She was given a bodhram drum for her birthday. And she plays it at midnight in the fields. And she's got a blasted tamborine

.25) You discover that her realistic resin skull ornament in her living room, actually is real.

26) You catch her washing a crystal ball along with the dishes.

27) She wears a lot of silver jewelry, even when doing the gardening. And bat ear-rings for goodness-sake.

28) You knock on her door and she answers it naked except for a toweling robe. You apologize for disturbing her in the bath, but notice that her hair isn't wet

.29) Irritating tendency to hum a lot. What's she got to be so happy about, huh?

30) She has a tame robin that will eat from her hand in the garden. That can't be natural.

31) Never catches a cold, even though she walks barefoot most of the time. In the snow as well.

32) Doesn't kill spiders. Not even big hairy long-legged ones that suddenly appear from the waste-pipe whilst you're having a bath.

33) She listens to what you are saying like she really cares.

34) She has lots of female friends who come round every few months. When you ask what they get up to, she tells you that they just have cakes and ale and a good natter.

35) You catch her hugging a tree.

36) Her dinner-set is decorated with Celtic patterns.

37) She has a mail-order account with a semi-precious gem wholesaler.

38) You notice that the parish priest crosses himself whenever he walks past her house.

39) She never watches television. And she has shelves full of books with black spines and silver-lettered titles.

40) To your certain knowledge she has never set foot in the local church. In fact, you have heard rumours that she has been barred from it

.41) She makes jars of quince and mandrake relish for the Women's Institute coffee morning jumble sale.

42) You ask to borrow a pack of cards for an impromptu bridge evening, and there are 78 in the pack.

43) You have never known her to visit her GP.

44) When you talk with her, she maintains eye contact all the time.

45) Expectant mothers are forever visiting her. Also women who become expectant mothers a month after visiting her.

46) You ask her for suggestions for nice walks in the area, and they all go by way of stone circles and strange earth mounds.

47) She only buys organic. And you just bet that she's a vegetarian as well. (Well, maybe not stricly vegetarian....)

48) When you ask her about her vacation plans, she tells you she will be camping in a tee-pee in the Brecon Beacons.

49) There aren't any mirrors in her house. Or clocks.50) She tells you that she is coming out of the broom closet, joins Witches' Voice, and erects a stained-glass pentacle window in her front door . Ooo what a give-away!

Algo de Humor no caeria mal, ejeheheh

Thursday, April 06, 2006



There's a place where worlds unfold.A place where the meek are bold.The truth is a distant cry;Men, women and children heedless of lie.

This place is a wasteland of horror.Those of us that live within it may refer to it as 'Mordor.'There are no ghosts, goblins, or creatures of malice.

Only those people known of The Balance.Through years of ruin and reconstruction,Each new leader brings upon us a new junction.
The innocent run and hide,Children of new cope or die.This is a fate that can be broken,One must step forth, the one known as The Spoken.Where he may be, no one can say;Can only hope and pray for, The Day.

Standing there looking into the sunset,Realizing how much of the world has passed.I walk and do not stop.

There's a destination that I know not of.The walk is long and quiet outside,But there is so much noise and clutter.Need to separate and walk alone.I need to be with myself.

The long walk is lonely sometimes.What can I say?The walk I must make.

The road is long and sometimes quite nice.Sometimes refreshing to just walk for miles.Being without troubles and being with nature.I lay my head and go to sleep,Where I go tomorrow will remain a mystery.

Sitting in the café sipping his coffee paper in front of him he watched people strollin, Thnkihn of himsfield.Those people incoming would catch his eye before he returned to his place. He Wondered himself.Staring through the dark tinted window a barren dry land of men on the roads and in cars, he acknowledged.People paid no attention passing him all day buying their coffees and snacks while he sat, hoping to himself.His cup slackened from wear of the hot liquid cooling, swirling light separated concoctions, as he mused to himself.A bee buzzing at the window from inside sitting then settling relentless, tired bur much to do. He Feared

Stopping in the café for coffee and a snack, aware of the dark figure in the seat closest to the window, she pitied.Door wafts shut a man steps in line for coffee drops a dollar on the table for the gray-hair man, whispering to himself.Worker from outside waves to the gray-hair man, each morning same response, he smiles and whistles to himself.

Alone he sits in awe and wonder, the people he sees, the weather winds that blow the leaves.Man is unchanging, relentless, ever pursuing fruits for life oblivious to lesser intricacies of a formidable world.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

The Vampire

Despertarás...Nada más fácil que asomarse a la ventana, y oír a quienes han despertado, como tú, dejar que el barullo de lo normal vaya imponiendose... un beso... un reproche de tristeza por el zapato que no se encuentra, por la sed...
Inconsciente de todo poder, es decir, indefensa, decides seguir las pautas de la vida. Para qué detenerse en lo que haces o crees hacer, si vas como sonámbula, no obstante; y con acopio de buenas intenciones te dejas confundir en cada transeúnte, en cada frase que pronuncias o escuchas, en cada pensamiento que explota en tus neuronas, allá al fondo...
Importa menos aún que seas tú la que actúe o la actuada. Alguna tarde te dejas invadir y entonces es como borrar las líneas de una mano y el fado que alguien canta en el metro nos mece como una canción de cuna...
Avanzarás.
Sin embargo, entrar en este lecho es acostarte con los cadáveres de todas las que fuiste.
—Quiero no ser—suspiras... —y despertar mañana, y olvidar...Que sea largo el amor.. que sea largo el olvido...
Y te encierras con llave, porque la noche es corta. Y yo crezco en tu sueño como una mala yerba, como un regusto amargo, como una indignación.
Cuesta renunciar al poemaestrangularse en el silencio que te asaltaboca arriba en la noche y penetra todos los orificiosde lo real
Sería oscuridad acaso yo Pena.destello de lo pétreosequía en pozo oscuro...y permanente el guiñode tus abalorios baratostintineándote, muerte...

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Darkest Night


Darkest Night

Darkest Night,
Evil cast
All light die fast
A song of sorrow and death,
Angels take their last breath
Shadows break out of their loneliness
Tears of misery drop to crimson lakes
The ethereal one awakes.
Frozen wisps of death surround her silken hair.
Your screams shall drawn to despair
Her ebony cloak
Flows over her ivory face
Her crimson lips slightly move apart,
And kiss the darkness streaming from beneath her.
Now the sacred gates are desecrated
Now a night of new beginning
A new life was created
Tonight
All evil shall rise
Beyond the skies
Darkness be send
The dark ones ascend

Monday, April 03, 2006

Children of the Earth





Drops of magick
Stones of power
Herbs of love and herbs of lust
Potions to heal and fires to seal

Fairies and angels
Shimmering muses and elven kings
Jewels of the earth
Awaiting for the sun’s rebirth

A thousand years have passed
A thousand years of love
A thousand years of trust
Casting spells and awakening the stars
Seeing only beauty
Where others see dust.

Seeing no good and no bad
For all good and all evil
All are but one
Children of the earth they all are
Darkness and light
Day and nightBlack and white
All are but one

Bueno por esta temporada pondre cosas relacionadas con la temporada y de vez en cuando algo obscuro,

salu2!!!!

The Forest of Lorien


I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,
In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.
There long the golden leaves had grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.
O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.
O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore
And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.
But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?



Bueno, estamos a primavera y quizá deberia poner algo relacionado a ello,
puse un lindo pensamiento del maestro Tolkien, disfrutenlo!!!

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Darkness




Lord Byron

Darkness

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went -and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light;
And they did live by watchfires -and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings -the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those which dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch;
A fearful hope was all the world contained;
Forests were set on fire -but hour by hour
They fell and faded -and the crackling trunks
Extinguished with a crash -and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them: some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnashed their teeth and howled; the wild birds shrieked,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawled
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless -they were slain for food;
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again; -a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought -and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails -men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured,
Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famished men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress -he died.
The crowd was famished by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage: they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects -saw, and shrieked, and died -
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless -
A lump of death -a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropped
They slept on the abyss without a surge -
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perished! Darkness had no need
Of aid from them -She was the Universe!