| |
News
6 November, 2007
I would like to thank all who have followed the story and enjoyed all its twist and turns. Today I post the final chapter and the epilogue. As a favour to me I would appreciate a final comment about the story when you are done reading. Then I bid you farewell for some time. I will return with my current project at some time, but for now you are left to enjoy the work of someone else. A suggestion would be The Winter Legacy: Heritage. It is worth the read in my absence.
Other links
Talk to me
|
|
Welcome to RiddleSphere.com
Those few who have lived through my earlier creations may
recognise me from my former site NocturnalPoetry.tk. That site is gone
now, due to both technical and personal reasons. And here, like a true
phoenix rising from the ashes is RiddleSphere.com.
This site is primarily made for my novel
Theodore Pike: Blood Ties, but you can find my poetry
here too. The gallery contains backgrounds and concept
art for my novel.
Theodore Pike: Blood Ties is complete,
but will be posted chapter by chapter each week on Tuesdays.
For those of you that have come here in search of my poetry;
have patience. I currently don’t write any and will probably not
do so for some time. Take solace in my novel instead, or wallow in grief
in my old poems, longing for more. Or, and here’s a thought: write
your own.
Comments or reviews on the site, the pictures,
the poems or the novel will be greatly appreciated and
placed either in the guestbook, tag-board or linked
site.
If you should get the sudden desire to contact me (scold,
praise, worship etc.) please do so through thevampireofdeath@hotmail.com
Enjoy this new breeze of creativity. After all, it’s
a time of change.
Have fun,
K. Riddle
Poem: Another
Sunday morning
One
rainy autumn morning, when dawn would just awake
Clouds were gathered closely, shadowing the lake
Ravens flocked in eager, sheltering from rain
I remember this morning, for it brought me no more pain
Opening my front
door, I witnessed on the porch
A stunning red-haired woman, like the fire on a torch
I think for just a moment, I may have been demised
For my heart did not beat then, as it had done for all
my life
This angel of a woman
smiled and looked at me,
I think I was in heaven - for I recall this certain
melody
Tones of feather weight were whistled in my mind,
This angel of a woman - who was this whim of sign?
Standing in a white
dress, her hair was soaking wet,
I offered her some shelter, but she broke my heart instead
Slashing through my memory, like a tigress on the loose,
I found there in her green eyes - memories sure to leave
a bruise
She took my hand
and kissed me, I shivered slightly then,
For her lips bore taste of iron - this meant someone's
end
I gasped and slowly whimpered in this recent angel's
grasp,
Knowing that this moment was meant to be my last
A demon of a woman
with witchcraft in her blood,
Like a stormy ocean calling, gentle like a flood
Tearing through a lonesome desert heart,
A demon of a woman to rip my world apart
|
|
