Visitors are fun. If you are expecting them, then you probably have lunch or dinner getting ready for them. You have plans to do things with them. When they are unexpected. It can be more fun or more stressful. You don’t know what you’re gonna do and you have to figure it out. Either way, it’s normally a good time.
i usually do not like visitors, but today i was really looking forward to a surpirise visitor. very interesting indeed, some boy came to see me and after gazing me for a little while he spitted to my cage.
the same old me, the same visitor that crossed your heart one sunny morning. thou, years passed and i’m back visiting your heart. I thought you’ve forgot me, but i see that visitors never forget their own visitors.
This visitor was different from the others, apart from the fact that I didn’t know. A different vibe emanated from her small, frail body. She must have been between seventeen and eighteen, although she had a look in her cold, dead eyes as though she had experienced much more than your average adolescent. She said her name was Lae, that she hoped I would feel better soon, and then left.
The visitor looked at me. His eyes penetrated me, a stare so intense I thought that I would evaporate. He was not particularly handsome in anyway, but had an intelligent air. He made me question who I was and made be doubt everything I had ever known or was sure about.
The visitor in the white frock coat rang the door bell and stood patiently awaiting my welcoming greetings. But I never replied. And he never left. And the door bell never stopped ringing. The visitor; the composer.
I never thought that I would be a visitor into my own home.At what stage had that happened? When did I agree that I would move away? Was it at 18 when I still thought the world my oyster?
I was raised a visitor to Dry Land, thousands of acres of cracked earth with the occasional weed sprouting up out of it, and it felt like home ‘til I tasted the Wetlands, the next best thing to amniotic fluid that I’d found, not like I’ve been everywhere to look…
I became a visitor to the Wetlands, went and raised hell there whenever I could, and naturally I retired there, found out what “too much of a good thing” means…
Now I’m a visitor to the land of Inbetween which is comfy because I don’t know my ass from a crack in the earth…
K-Dizzle is coming to visit me and I am delighted. We’re going to hang out, watch ALL THE DARCYS and generally have a rockin’ good time. We usually do.
Damn, I miss her so much. She brings so much light to my life.
Here he come again. We don’t want him here and yet he hobbles up the creaking steps. Even they groan at his approach. Even if we didn’t see him coming, we would have known just who it was by the simple fact how he knocks and walks.
The manor was quiet as John made his way up the dark path. He had been invited to this dreary place, the lone visitor from what he could surmise. He approached the heavy wooden door, clacking the huge knocker three times…
Seconds pass;
Slow and calculated
Shadows drift and settle
On stone walls, and walkways.
But with each city beat
Footsteps follow;
Calm, rushed, frenzied –
A confusion of sound
Falling to a dull rhythm
Of the cement heart.
The bundle of black hair visited the red velvet lined box.
It was tied with a string like a shorn ponytail.
Inside the box there were no windows or doors
just quilted walls and dim illumination
like a casket in a dream.
She waited in the lobby for the car to arrive, stopping just short of the curb. It was dark now. She stepped out onto the wet pavement and searched left, then right. Glistening lights and deep puddles. Glass breaking in the distance. A siren. No sight of the promise she had been so hesitant to welcome just hours before. Why then, standing in the rain, her heart still protected from the storm, did she not feel relieved?
I’m but a visitor in this world. This place is not my home. My home lies in another place, far beyond the horizon, the stars, and reality itself. I can’t wait to see home.
he walked to the door in just his pyjamas. its 4 in the morning, who could possible be knocking on the door at this hour? sleepily, he drags his lazy feet down the stairs to the dark doorway. he cautiously peers through the shutters to see who is standing there, and to his surprise, his utter surprise. its her.
A small, quiet knock at the door marks his arrival. Followed by the sound of footsteps as he moves to the window. The curtains are drawn, A quiet cottage, nothing ever happens. Quiet people, nothing ever happens. A quiet town, nothing ever happens. He pauses and returns to the front door to peer through the small brass letter box. He exhales, the weight lifting from his shoulders as he sees movement behind frosted glass. Biting his lip he readies his words, reciting the same speech he has visited countless times in his head before. As the door opens it slips from his grasp leaving one word lingering on his lips… “Mum?”
A visitor can be someone who is or is not welcome. They are someone who does not belong where they are but are there anyways. They have a special view of the place because they can see it from the perspective that the insiders can’t.
there was someone whose face i have never seen before. It was beutiful nd gruff. I waanted to touch him. I haven been wondering whaats so special why shoudl I but now i se why. I waas content until this visitor walked into my line of
The man walked glumly to the front door, shaking his head quietly. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years since the war.” He sighed, and knocked on the door three times. There was no answer.
people coming from different places where do they come from where are they going what do they have with them nobody knows for sure but its true that they are there. they want a host, someone to take care of them, someone to bake them biscuits, someone to masquerade as the mother they never had before. they are the visitor, little is expected of them. they can be, whoever they want.
a person who you have invited for tea and cakes. You try and ensure their stay is perfection! Unless of course it is a boring old relative, who is insistent in demoralising you.
You lived your life on a long rode full of wonderful experiences and beautiful sights. Now your engine has stop running and your wheels have come to a halt. You’ve arrived at your final destination: the long bridge to serenity. But you deny the walk across.
I can’t see you, but i feel you. You resemble the wind. Unseen but it’s presence is strong. But like wind, you’re only something with the air.
That night your footsteps felt so surreal. My heart beating to each one. As fast as your cadence and as loud as your stomps.
Mommy- i need you to cross your bridge. Get to the otherside. and if you wait for me, someday i will join you. And we will hop into your fast car and go on our own adventure.
One that will never end.
There I was a visitor to another world, lost yet somewhat comforted that I had arrived. I walked slowly through the distant landscape, unaware I was being watched. Yet some how I knew that there were eyes on me.
He walked in the door like he owned the place, truth was he was my visitor of the day. He looked around as if he was looking for somebody, he seemed nervous.
Well, I did a minutes worth of this…but I accidentally refreshed and everything was wiped. So, here you go.
Visitors are fun. If you are expecting them, then you probably have lunch or dinner getting ready for them. You have plans to do things with them. When they are unexpected. It can be more fun or more stressful. You don’t know what you’re gonna do and you have to figure it out. Either way, it’s normally a good time.
i usually do not like visitors, but today i was really looking forward to a surpirise visitor. very interesting indeed, some boy came to see me and after gazing me for a little while he spitted to my cage.
Friend scary mom nice
Sad surprise happy relative unwanted sleepover dinner going out talking visiting eating sleeping fun
the same old me, the same visitor that crossed your heart one sunny morning. thou, years passed and i’m back visiting your heart. I thought you’ve forgot me, but i see that visitors never forget their own visitors.
This visitor was different from the others, apart from the fact that I didn’t know. A different vibe emanated from her small, frail body. She must have been between seventeen and eighteen, although she had a look in her cold, dead eyes as though she had experienced much more than your average adolescent. She said her name was Lae, that she hoped I would feel better soon, and then left.
The visitor looked at me. His eyes penetrated me, a stare so intense I thought that I would evaporate. He was not particularly handsome in anyway, but had an intelligent air. He made me question who I was and made be doubt everything I had ever known or was sure about.
Someone that comes to see you. They can be unpleasant or pleasant, unwanted or wanted. Someone that you dont always see. They stay with you sometimes.
The visitor in the white frock coat rang the door bell and stood patiently awaiting my welcoming greetings. But I never replied. And he never left. And the door bell never stopped ringing. The visitor; the composer.
There was a knock on the door. We weren’t expecting a visitor…
I opened the door just a crack. “Who’s there?” I asked in an unsure voice.
No reply. I opened the door fully and….
I never thought that I would be a visitor into my own home.At what stage had that happened? When did I agree that I would move away? Was it at 18 when I still thought the world my oyster?
I was raised a visitor to Dry Land, thousands of acres of cracked earth with the occasional weed sprouting up out of it, and it felt like home ‘til I tasted the Wetlands, the next best thing to amniotic fluid that I’d found, not like I’ve been everywhere to look…
I became a visitor to the Wetlands, went and raised hell there whenever I could, and naturally I retired there, found out what “too much of a good thing” means…
Now I’m a visitor to the land of Inbetween which is comfy because I don’t know my ass from a crack in the earth…
i want to be one in a foreign country
K-Dizzle is coming to visit me and I am delighted. We’re going to hang out, watch ALL THE DARCYS and generally have a rockin’ good time. We usually do.
Damn, I miss her so much. She brings so much light to my life.
But she’ll be here soon!!!
hydrangeas bloom in the spring, and I like to bloom with them, these spring visitors leaving too soon.
Here he come again. We don’t want him here and yet he hobbles up the creaking steps. Even they groan at his approach. Even if we didn’t see him coming, we would have known just who it was by the simple fact how he knocks and walks.
The manor was quiet as John made his way up the dark path. He had been invited to this dreary place, the lone visitor from what he could surmise. He approached the heavy wooden door, clacking the huge knocker three times…
visitors are here for a short time
visitors dont stay
no one stays
visitors are welcome
not always
no one is always welcome
Seconds pass;
Slow and calculated
Shadows drift and settle
On stone walls, and walkways.
But with each city beat
Footsteps follow;
Calm, rushed, frenzied –
A confusion of sound
Falling to a dull rhythm
Of the cement heart.
The bundle of black hair visited the red velvet lined box.
It was tied with a string like a shorn ponytail.
Inside the box there were no windows or doors
just quilted walls and dim illumination
like a casket in a dream.
She waited in the lobby for the car to arrive, stopping just short of the curb. It was dark now. She stepped out onto the wet pavement and searched left, then right. Glistening lights and deep puddles. Glass breaking in the distance. A siren. No sight of the promise she had been so hesitant to welcome just hours before. Why then, standing in the rain, her heart still protected from the storm, did she not feel relieved?
alien.
unexpected.
shock.
light.
bright.
white.
page.
pen.
end.
alien.
unexpected.
shock.
light.
bright.
white.
page.
pen.
end.
I’m but a visitor in this world. This place is not my home. My home lies in another place, far beyond the horizon, the stars, and reality itself. I can’t wait to see home.
he walked to the door in just his pyjamas. its 4 in the morning, who could possible be knocking on the door at this hour? sleepily, he drags his lazy feet down the stairs to the dark doorway. he cautiously peers through the shutters to see who is standing there, and to his surprise, his utter surprise. its her.
A small, quiet knock at the door marks his arrival. Followed by the sound of footsteps as he moves to the window. The curtains are drawn, A quiet cottage, nothing ever happens. Quiet people, nothing ever happens. A quiet town, nothing ever happens. He pauses and returns to the front door to peer through the small brass letter box. He exhales, the weight lifting from his shoulders as he sees movement behind frosted glass. Biting his lip he readies his words, reciting the same speech he has visited countless times in his head before. As the door opens it slips from his grasp leaving one word lingering on his lips… “Mum?”
A knock came at my door. I wasn’t expecting any visitors. “Who could it be?” I wondered in an awkward silence.
A visitor can be someone who is or is not welcome. They are someone who does not belong where they are but are there anyways. They have a special view of the place because they can see it from the perspective that the insiders can’t.
there was someone whose face i have never seen before. It was beutiful nd gruff. I waanted to touch him. I haven been wondering whaats so special why shoudl I but now i se why. I waas content until this visitor walked into my line of
The visitor has come to see you. She has come a long way. I know you don’t want to talk to any one but…
I am a visitor on planet earth…we are to live as aliens here on earth as our citizenship is in heaven with our Father.
it’s a guest who comes into your house and you have a conversation with him or her
can be a good one or a bad one.
The man walked glumly to the front door, shaking his head quietly. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years since the war.” He sighed, and knocked on the door three times. There was no answer.
people coming from different places where do they come from where are they going what do they have with them nobody knows for sure but its true that they are there. they want a host, someone to take care of them, someone to bake them biscuits, someone to masquerade as the mother they never had before. they are the visitor, little is expected of them. they can be, whoever they want.
a person who you have invited for tea and cakes. You try and ensure their stay is perfection! Unless of course it is a boring old relative, who is insistent in demoralising you.
You lived your life on a long rode full of wonderful experiences and beautiful sights. Now your engine has stop running and your wheels have come to a halt. You’ve arrived at your final destination: the long bridge to serenity. But you deny the walk across.
I can’t see you, but i feel you. You resemble the wind. Unseen but it’s presence is strong. But like wind, you’re only something with the air.
That night your footsteps felt so surreal. My heart beating to each one. As fast as your cadence and as loud as your stomps.
Mommy- i need you to cross your bridge. Get to the otherside. and if you wait for me, someday i will join you. And we will hop into your fast car and go on our own adventure.
One that will never end.
The visitor was standing awkwardly in the entry way, the water dripping off her umbrella, her black raincoat shiny wet.
There I was a visitor to another world, lost yet somewhat comforted that I had arrived. I walked slowly through the distant landscape, unaware I was being watched. Yet some how I knew that there were eyes on me.
He walked in the door like he owned the place, truth was he was my visitor of the day. He looked around as if he was looking for somebody, he seemed nervous.
stranger, friend. love, tea, coffee, fun, waiting, home, happiness,