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~ Evangelinia ~

.:The Girl With Sweet Dreams On Her Side:.

I am the child of dreaming....the niece of the beloved goddess that fills your mind with thoughts of everything from the pleasurable lust of your soulmate to the painful lost of your dear father.

I am the child of hope...the daughter of the angelic goddess that brings you the dreams of your most precious hopes, from achievement of the most basic activities to becoming most famous photographer or archtitect.

I am the child of the world...the grand daughter of the celestrial goddess that reignsover the universe, and all who inhabit it, from star that burns our planet to the cosmos far past the Milky Way.

I am the child of Mari, Goddess of Dreams & Hopes.

Ok, enough with the dramatic opening. I really think I am though.

My name's Ivette, which sarcastically means 'Graceful Life' in French. And I live in the ironcically named town, Albrightsville. Hm, what a coincidence?

I'm a poet. I express myself through my pencil, and all of my experiences...which is pretty much...none!

When you live in a ironically named town, its hard to enjoy life, knowing the name forces this concept to rule and slowly consume your concept of living. That's why I want to move somewhere else, like Chicago, or Maine.

Maine looks so beautiful. Your near Canada, seaside (depending where) all the time, and it reminds me of freedom. Sure, America is the 'Land of the Free', but Maine is more of an escape.

I'm a photographer....amateur. The imagery of a photo often sparks inspiration in your mind, so that's why I started a few weeks ago. Like if you see a photo of swans, it makes me think of romance & love. There, you reflect off of your own experiences that you slowly develop an idea that you can write. Or a photo of a guy/girl you think is extremely beautiful/hot, it'll make you feel fluttery inside, or give you lustful thinking. Then, reflect off of your sexual (if u have any) experiences you had, or wish you had....boom! your own dirty poem.

Albrightsville is in the mountains. Gorgeous sunsets, clear skies, exquisite scenary, fluffy animals hopping about....ew! I might as well live in 'Bambi.' Its alright, but I live here. The first time I invited my friend Jessica (form where I used to live) up here, she was all like, 'Omg, its so beautiful. Look, the trees are all red and orange.' And I was like, 'It ain't that much different from Bushkil.' Bushkil is also a mountain town, but its a tourist attraction, so pretty much, more than 100 trees is being cut down at this very moment for stores to be built. And the number slowly grows by the hour.

The only thing that has been left the same is the falls, which still has been tampered with, since they decided to build bridgees and stairs, so its easier to get to the falls.

My life revolves around art. I used to play flute. I loved it, until I forgot to return the flute and we had to pay over 300 bucks for it, just for the summer. Damn.

Well, that's pretty much a very chatty, brief bio of me. Laterz!

The Gifts of Mari

by Lucirina Telor Vevan

Between the cold raindrops,
the warm tears hide, cowering.
Inside the fires of passion
the numbness of fear chills us.
Amidst the smell of new-born roses
the smell of decay and death lingers.
In each dawn,
A night dies.
In each twilight,
a day agonises.
For each life
there is a death.
For each smile,
a tear.

For each dream
there is awakening.
In each greeting
there is a farewell.
In a single kiss
beats lie hidden.
Behind the smiles
Awaits the grimace of anger
to transform happiness
into grieving.

Misunderstood, loathed,
Mari's hand touches us all.
Cursed, blessed her gifts.
She gives us joys and griefs.
Peace, then pains of war.
Love, then the cold touch of hatred.
Happiness, then the numbness of sorrow.
But she also gives
The caress, after the strikes.
The kiss, after the absence.
Silence, after the deafening sounds