Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Malice through the Looking Glass
They've left a candle smoking
neath the mirror's icy gaze
Freshly doused, invoking
spirits from the darker days.
They leave no smell, they leave no sound.
A soul-less souvenir.
Reflections of an empty room,
a face seems to appear.
A distant dirge is playing
weaving harmonies from hell
The ambience decaying
as piano morphs to bell.
The wick that smokes and smoulders
Sends its incense past the glass
The fingers on my shoulders say
my time has come to pass…
poem
by
Hola Mentirosa
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black