BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart.

Gaze no more in the bitter glass

The demons, with their subtle guile,

Lift up before us when they pass,

Or only gaze a little while;

For there a fatal image grows

That the stormy night receives,

Roots half hidden under snows,

Broken boughs and blackened leaves.

For all things turn to barrenness

In the dim glass the demons hold,

The glass of outer weariness,

Made when God slept in times of old.

There, through the broken branches, go

The ravens of unresting thought;

Flying, crying, to and fro,

Cruel claw and hungry throat,

Or else they stand and sniff the wind,

And shake their ragged wings; alas!

Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:

Gaze no more in the bitter glass

i guess i should speak a little about myself. i'm Raina Frost, which you've obviously read, and people call me Rain. there really isn't anything too speacial about me, except for my ability to create morbidity in writing. no one seems to appreciate it for the same reasons some were reputed to despise Dante for his work. his purgatory was amazing and from whom i take my Virgil. my imagination lies in the realm of the unknown where shadows can take form and the bad guy is not always so bad, but in fact innocent from the horror of his making. my realm is all those things people despise: the rape of men and women, the horror and carnage of pillages, a pirate's true purpose, assasins and hells many minion who seethe and lurch in the shadows, nothing but blood in their wake. so maybe Raina Frost is not so common after all. maybe, after all ,i'd be the next Lovecraft. the man whose mother was insane and didn't even have two pennies to rub together, only to grow in absolute fame as his life extinguisheed and he lay in his grave despising the world for his misfortune. its sounds like something i'd do.