|This Place Is a Ghost Town
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|Author:||Quique [ Sun May 21, 2017 8:50 pm ]|
|Post subject:||This Place Is a Ghost Town|
Haven't looked at this site for years. I believe last time I visited was way back in 2013. I got to thinking about this place and decided to pay it a visit, expecting to see a whole bunch of unknown people here. Instead....I see crickets. =(
Not gonna lie. It made me sad because I had some really good times (and really bad times too) on here and it's sad to see the once-lively musical theatre discussions now dead.
I see my lovely Duchess has taken over this site. That's about the only good thing I've seen here today, haha. And of course the great mods are still here...Mumsy and Set-Building Dad. Nice to see you guys again. Oh, and Pounce. Hi Pounce! *waves*
I hope everyone is doing well.
Just turned 39. This is what I look like these days:
I gots whiskers now.
|Author:||Dax [ Thu May 25, 2017 5:33 am ]|
|Post subject:||Re: This Place Is a Ghost Town|
...more like an old abandoned theatre, dark, cobwebby, musty...if you close you eyes you can almost feel the memory when it was a happening place, and vibrant.
All this when there my eyes behold
On every stone and heap of mould,
Solitude, though thou art sweet,
Solemn art thou then to meet;
When with list'ning pause I look
Round the pillar's ruin'd nook,
Glooms revealing, dim descried,
Ghosts, companion'd by thy side;
Where in old deformity
Ancient arches sweep on high;
And the aisles, to light unknown,
Create a darkness all their own:
Save the moon, as on we pass,
Splinters through the broken glass,
Or the torn roof, patch'd with cloud,
Or the crack'd wall, bulg'd and bow'd;--
Glimmering faint along the ground,
Shooting solemn and profound,
Lighting up the silent gloom
Just to read an ancient tomb:
'Neath where, as it gilding creeps,
We may see some abbot sleeps;
And as on we mete the aisle,
Daring scarce to breathe the while,
Soft as creeping feet can fall,
While the damp green-stained wall
Swift the startled ghost flits by,
Mocking murmurs faintly sigh;
Reminding our intruding fear
Such visits are unwelcome here.
Seemly then, from hollow urn,
Gentle steps our step return:
E'er so soft and e'er so still,
Check our breath or how we will,
List'ning spirits still reply
Step for step, and sigh for sigh.
Murmuring o'er one's weary woe,
Such as once 'twas theirs to know,
They whisper to such slaves as me,
A buried tale of misery:
A snippet of John Clare's "Solitude."
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