Abney Park Cemetery

There’s a party in the gravestones, dear The beggarmen all dance Poverty is not the drug That has them in a trance Bending moving shaking frames No music in their rhythms Culture found beneath the line Beyond the social schisms The partygoers every night Are vagrant...

She was

she was beautiful in the most unique and special way as only a complete stranger can be… at least in my mind… every inch of her skin glowed as if reflecting the shimmer from her perfectly styled shoulder-length hair… I dreamed at that moment of a hundred years...
Special Girl

Special Girl

They stared at her amazed. But they would never know her secret. She couldn’t really fly. She just hovered and let the world spin beneath her. – Rivenberg