|What's Done is Done. What's Done Will be Done.|
|Whatever's here doesn't necessarily represent the type of artworks I do, my best artwork, or the artwork that might appeal to you. I like to think that I'm pretty versatile, so don't judge me just on what's in this box, go take a look at my gallery!|
|I'm very picky about my favourites, if it's in here then it's really very good and if you're in here, feel honoured! I don't fave that often compared to most!|
Fickle as a child's innocent eyes, a figment, flash-vanished.
To teach? To show and engender a love of mastery, of poise, of intellectual grace
Be it of lingua pura, mathematics, or science so chaste.
To rant and to rave with a passion untold at the head of a room with a board to behold.
To inspire dreams of grandeur in those children, wise.
To counsel? To help make true the false mind, with strangers, I'd help them all
Talk for hours with pleasant roguish wherewithal.
To take such a burden, to free such a soul, and something I'm good at if tales true are told.
To close their eyes to the hurt or feel better, lies.
Or, then again, to scrimping and starving? Spend my life writing
Hope-filled, with poor lighting
To go blind as the bat, be as true as can be. Trying for years to my novel set free.
With painéd fingers worn through and inkstained, dies.
The choices that pain and riddle me so do not very easily pack up and go,
Harsh consideration shall be forethought,
With the hope
Fever'dShivering, all bluster, beneath blankets.
The weather has been hot, but mere warmth leaves me cold.
Painful gulps of vital fluid softly beats against my will,
while aching head and fevered dreams retell me I am ill.
It is the same, of course it is the same.
Viral bleakness never lays new claim.
Books, unread as yet and discarded
at the end-of-bed, mind not met.
When hard sweats wake me from the little rest I attain,
I seek an ancient mentor, hidden behind his fame.
And while comfort voice is truly nice,
that which I miss most are of my vice.
Ginny's WinterGinny Weasley hated being alone. Ever since the last of her brothers had left for their schooling days at Hogwarts or for careers far and wide, she'd found that with every passing day the silence in her house was become less and less satisfying. Though she'd never admit to it, she really did miss her brothers.
And it didn't help that her Father worked long hours, either. She'd never noticed it before, but with Ron not there to distract her with a Quidditch game or two, she now saw that her Father was always gone when she woke up and didn't come home until she'd been tucked in.
It was for this matter that she found herself staring out her bedroom window at the snow that was pattering down on the tall brush that surrounded the burrow as far as the eye could see. She had on her favorite pajama and long, woolen red overcoat, but she wasn't planning on going outside. Her parents had been invited to an important dinner and, seeing as everyone was busy, she'd been left home alone for the nigh