-
Windy times on the hills of Killary Harbour when the dawn sets on the harbour. The mists covering a clear day on the hills of killary harbour, slumber falls on the valley while the harbours rush comes to an end, and invites to rest. When the nights windy times set tone to a sound. Waiting…
-
On the banks of the river Lagan you follow the spirit to the nest of the swan, it gives you a glimpse of the warm nest for new life. It shows you the sparkle of a new day. Never in doubt, never in despair, for life binds the spirit to life’s challenges, for the swan…
-
It’s the spear that pierces through illusion, it has only one point and a soft side, it will put words on paper, but as it is a spear, caution is mandatory. For the words will not be erased by the soft side, as power has been given, we hardly think of the influence we have…
-
December 2018 ©Elke T.B. Stevens.
-
When feet are stamping the grounds of an old life on a path covered by history, a dark forest will bring a moment of fear, before faith will be restored. Then stamping on the old grounds will be purpose as we want to walk in the unknown with confidence, knowing we do not always need…
-
A memory, one image bringing warmth and peace for a moment in the moment, sounds are soft and the voice a guide, when no emotion comes to the surface. Only a body that feels tense but warm at the memory of the word island. No memory of the place as not my mind or this…
-
The infinite shadow on the red velvet, a fire dance that never ends, burning through the curtain of the veil. The moment passion can’t be stopped and love shatters all over. Then my love is infinite, for my passion can’t die as my fire burns for eternity. ©Elke T.B. Stevens 08/11/2018
-
Like hope hanging on a flimsy thread I’m balancing between illusion and realty. For my muse is gone, my heart is empty. But in your arms my dreams still sleep. My muse, something to hold on to in the slumber of a daydream where my heart is in the cradle of your love. Not pulling…
-
Behind the veil of illusion, a story unfolds, trampling and full of fear we take a step. Knowing the veil is our illusion, the on we have created the one we don’t want to torn. The comfort of the illusion keeping us warm up to the pain we can’t longer endure. We can’t break it,…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens 