Oiseau enferme dans son vol, il n'a jamais
connu la terre, il n'a jamais eu d'ombre.
Paul Eluard

I'd rather suffocate in a stuffy room blowing clouds to stay alone and read Oscar Wilde's Stories savouring every shade of words. 'Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the tree'. As my lips inhale once more I feel clouding of my consciousness and soar under the smog tamped down into my mind ending up scaterbrain. It's floating away having drained all my spirits. I am empty and hollow; defeated.



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Herbert James Draper (1897) - Pot Pourri