Caroline Tiss Writes

 Grace I remember grace,  Like the wind at my back, nightly, She is the serendipity, She is the cure, I allow the silence to wash over me without resistance, Never have I touched the first snow's powder, But like Grace the winter returns, The snow is as white as a pale lily, It makes me want to gaze in awe at the night, The serenity is that of a cathedral, Snowflakes fall upon my eyelids and frost the world with a silver sheen. Grace is like the snow.     

 Venusian Myths Beauty is not true, Beauty is not definable, To be aware of symmetry and color is all that you need,  You can bejewel the night sky as Nyx has done, and the sight is astonishing, As long as the sun and moon shall endure in perfect peace and harmony, So shall the world reflect the sentiments of tranquility, Beauty is in the wild unknown.

  Deceit  To claim that you "cannot deny" is false. People can deny anything they want, and they continue to. You could deny yourself into an absolute and utter lie, You deny yourself into deceit and I will not be there to catch you if you fall, A wolf in sheep's clothing is much worse than no wolf at all. 

  Muses Every minstrel's muse is a fleeting trick of the light, Infatuation is to sacrifice your wild rose to the oceans, Dark and deep, My greatest fault is my love, the lofty kind, Rose colored glasses have clouded my eyes, I disregard the ugly and obscene for sugar coated lies.  This night is the hurting kind of silence. I long for safety while in the pit.  The only safety is within me.  

 Witch's World I gaze into glass, like a ship on a misty night Let me dance on drops of morning dew one balmy day in June, I love the romance of it all, I am the crashing of thunder, I am the quaking of the earth as stampedes of stallions run by Ireland's horizon, I believe, I hope, I dream I am the lonely London fog, I am quiet in the twilight. The day has just begun. Aurora, Aurora, Aurora, my love.  

 Suspension  It never was the sort of thing that caused the bough to break, As I bleed she watches me with her pure heart, Here I am, the weighted end of the scale of justice, Staring at my virtuous sun, Her gaze pities me, What good is pity if my river is red with blood from my heart, Sympathy will not save you, So it is not a virtue, Do not patronize me with your ivory, I do not regret a thing.