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 | ..Ah the boredom of the city. Itr plagued like a relentless burden -- cumbering the sinew bound goddess as she strode through the foreign streets. Mercurial as she darted, the cadance was modesty, encased within thick, ebonite constructed boots. The contrasting white of her apparel collided pleasently with the swarthy sheen of bound leather...a vogue only she produced within the recesses of a processing mind. The genuine nonpareil continued the liesurely loitering -- stumbling upon the seclusion of the local bar, and desisively slipping past the steel rimmed plexiglass. Irids of pale emerald and sultry silver wash o'er the condensed milieu, finding it to the appeasing vix. Siddling to the vinyl stools, the feline anchors a marooned self to the emaciating haven, indulging in a relishing shot.. .x. Through the forests of the night .x. |
Alias..Kida Rinaldi Persuasian..Desired Persona..A rugged rogue, jaded vagrant, cynical and exotic...more beneath the surface only few have sought to find.. Seniority..17 winters endured Imagery..See above Tiger, tiger, burning bright, In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? When thy heart began to beat, What dread hand forged thy dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dared its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears And watered heaven with their tears, Did He smile his work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee? Tiger, tiger, burning bright, In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? --Wiliam Blake |