I can't explain my original decision to name the blog, but I can at least connect it to something meaningful afterwards. I wrote a pretty poem to follow my pretty name.
The Gray Ghost of Green-Gate
I have no cheer, not
one happy sigh.
My soul doth sore
despair.
And to a laugh, I have
no like reply
But cold and empty air.
The sullen Green-Gate
Ghost am I,
Who trails her silver
hair.
I am Green-Gate’s haint
o’ the hollow,
And I sneak up beside
The quivering branch ‘neath
the nervous swallow
And there it is I hide.
Till someone on my path
would follow,
In the twisted tree I
bide.
When one does have the
great misfortune
To cross my foggy road,
In his jumping ear I
mention
Witches, wolves, and
toads.
He shrieks, he runs,
his face is ashen;
His terror have I
bestowed.
Do I do it out of
malicious zeal?
Or is it out of hate?
I do it because it’s
the way I feel;
Because it is my fate.
I have no cheer,
satisfaction’s not real
To the gray ghost of
Green-Gate.
I used to be a maiden
alive
With living starry
eyes,
Destined to be a rich
man’s wife
And believe his honeyed
lies.
On our wedding night,
he showed a knife,
And he stabbed me ‘twixt
my thighs.
Did you know, I had
loved him so,
Before our wedding
night,
There was no place I’d willing
go
That loosed him from my
sight.
His hair and eyes cast
a fair halo
That broke apart the light.
How could I have loved
that man?
Demon he proved to be.
He made his vows and
joined my clan,
And took the
bloodstained dowry.
And I awoke to know
again
He’d made a fool of me.
He dumped a girl upon
the road,
She who I once had
been.
That’s where I set up
my abode
In the bend of the
twisted tree.
And there she lay, and
there I moaned,
To have awoke so
ghostly.
I am not good, I am not
bad,
But jealousy bear I.
For the life that I
once had
Shines brightly from
your eye.
To gain back life? The
idea’s mad.
No madwoman am I.
Instead of kill, and
rob your life
For which there’s
purpose none,
I save us both a little
strife,
And scare you just for
fun.
Then if I see you wield
a knife,
I’ll chase you to the
sun.
It is an evanescent
glee
A little while it
lasts.
And when those laughing
thoughts far flee,
I’ve nothing but my
past.
A ghost is all it can
ever be,
The future is outcast.
So I have no cheer, no
happy sigh.
My soul doth sore
despair.
And to a laugh, I have
no like reply
But cold and empty air.
The sullen Green-Gate
Ghost am I,
Who trails her silver
hair.
I am Green-Gate’s haint
o’ the hollow,
And I sneak up beside
The quivering branch ‘neath
the nervous swallow
And there it is I hide.
Till someone on my path
would follow,
In the twisted tree I
bide.
When one does have the
great misfortune
To cross my foggy road,
In his jumping ear I
mention
Witches, wolves, and
toads.
He shrieks, he runs,
his face is ashen;
His terror have I
bestowed.
I do it not out of
malicious zeal.
Nor is it out of hate.
I do it because it’s
the way I feel;
Because it is my fate.
I have no cheer,
satisfaction’s not real
To the gray ghost of
Green-Gate.
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