His blood on my hands
I stared at it shocked
What have i done
I think as it drips
crimson tears
The last he shall cry

The Followings of a Melancholic Departure (this is a fictional story I have begun).

Dear Amelia 

It seems the world is altogether darker now; as though the summer left with your departing. The house seems so large and melancholy devoid of people bustling in and out. Perhaps, it too misses you. The autumn leaves have at last begun to fall as the park trees slowly become golden and one by one shedding their leaves to coat the ground in crimson snow. The bare trees a clear sigh that mists of winter will soon come rolling in.

            As for your question regarding Abigail she returned to town only a few short days after your own departing. She did however promise a visit at Christmas saying then she was sad to go. She also expressed a wish to see you also at Christmas saying she hoped then at last she could meet with Eliza.

                As for myself I am well enough only the house is not so friendly now. Silent and half shut up it has become some what foreboding. I have therefore taken to wandering through the grounds to relive myself. The sudden loss of people has made me long again for noise so I have been forced to create my own by working on my playing of the pianoforte which has, as yours I dare say has, improved greatly.

            I will enclose with the letter my table design that you so desired and I hope it shall satisfy you. Life from where I site is very grey so there is little left to put but I look forward to your next letter for, as it is, they are all I have for company. I hope you will therefore not mind if I take the liberty of asking you some questions of my own for I am curious as to what happen to the business about Lady Margaret.  And I will now ask outright, will you come to visit at Christmas? For I dearly hope you shall. I hope you are keeping well and I pray that you tell me of the beautiful parks of Apton  I do long to see them through your letters if not my eyes.

Yours most sincerely Emily 

sewing machine

My sewing machine i about 100 years old how cool is that.

Aisling's song

You must go where I can not,

Pangur Ban Pangur Ban,

Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,

Is ni bheimid beo,

ach seal beag gearr,

Pangur Ban Pangur Ban,

Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,

Is ni bheimid beo,

ach seal beag gearr,

You must go where I can not,

Pangur Ban Pangur Ban,

Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,

Is ni bheimid beo,

ach seal beag gearr,

you must go where i can not

Pangur Ban Pangur Ban     (this means 'my cat' but is used a a name here)

not in this world but fog

we is not live 

little short for a while

The above is a direct translation from Irish to English but i love this song so i thought i would share it with you. it is called Aisling's song.

translators are dumb

hello my name is emma
bonjour mon nom est emma
Hallo mein Name ist Emma
Hello emri im është Ema
Kaixo është Ema en emri
Ema është Kaixo IRMS
Ciao Ema është IRMS
Dia duit Ema është IRMS
Hello Ema është IRMS


this is what happens when you use a translator the first and last are both supposed to be English

Shadow

Shadow, to the edge of night

Through the land that once shone bright

Shadow, it is drawing near 

And with its name it carries fear

Shadow, it is taking hold

Grasping all the lands of old

Shadow, it is closing in

Using fear to take from within

Shadow, it holds all dark

No escape for any from the dark

Shadow, it hold all fast

Now I fear how long it shall last

Shadow through the darkest night

Now the light shines so bright

Shadow no longer holding ground

Now dragon and rider have been found

Shadow through the edge of night

No more way to match their might

Shadow will your pride stoop 

Now the dragons of old group

I wrote this to go with a book idea I have an I will probably put more of that on here. This is supposed to be a song the bold letters are extended sounds the shadow lines are one note the others are wavering. when sung it sound lamenting as the character that wrote is knew the land before the darkness came but knows she will die when the light comes again so she misses the time before the dark.

rp

i am reasonably sure that Michael Caine just said that Robert Patterson was good

stuff i wrote

autumn leaves fall like a fiery snow
a paintbox of leafy shapes
the trees branches devoid of leaf
golden fabric spiralling to the ground
forming a rich and royal carpet
of swirling crimson patterns slowly fading
covered by winters white gown

a slowly drifting mist
a swirl of white
against a world of blue

these are just some poems i wrote at school today

moi

these are the crazy people i hang out with

i thought you may want to see them but hey maybe you didn't.
before i put more i must warn you ............
i can't spell and i don't like punctuation so don't blame me if i fail to use it or miss out words of just generally fail epicly.
now thats out the way i will tell you more about these crazy people.
starting on the left is beth -mad as a hatter and just as awesome crazy creative and is curently an Evil Genius French Rainbow Sheep Prawn Universe-Shadow i think or some thinng like that anyway 
then its me ... um ... well... not much to say about me but still life goes on and so does this post
next we have megan and i just not going there!!!
No i said i wasn't so i wont 
oh okay i will
Megan is really really crazy i mean the crazyist man in the crazyist asylm is sain next to her. obsessed with human death but hates injured animals and awesome at poetry. oh and has a phobia of compliments.
then last and defiantly not lest is emma she is the sanest of us and the nicest kindest and probably most caring person you will ever meet 


well thats that i supose anywho 
byebye fools