05-30-2019, 09:22 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Francois+One|Kristi|Quicksand' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .kensa_table2 { position: relative; z-index: 1; background-color: #020202; width: 600px; border: solid 1px #F7F8F3; box-shadow: 0px 0px 2px 1px #D8BF41; } .kensa_table2 p { margin: 0; } .kensa_img2 { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .kensa_text2 { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: -40px; } .kensa_message2 { position: relative; font: 13px 'Quicksand', sans-serif; text-align: justify; color: #F7F8F3;padding:20px; } .kensa_lyrics2 { position: relative; text-align: center; width: 51%; color: #D8BF41; font: 13px 'Quicksand', sans-serif;text-shadow:0px 0px 1px #403603;font-style:italic; line-height: 1.2em; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 10px; } .kensa_name2 { position: absolute; z-index: 5; color: #D8BF41; text-align: center; font: 80px 'Francois One', sans-serif; text-transform: uppercase;text-shadow:0px 1px 1px #000; line-height: 1.2em; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: 310px;margin-left: 180px;}.kensa_overq { position: absolute; z-index: 6; color: #F7F8F3; text-align: center; font: 50px 'Kristi', cursive;text-shadow:0px 1px 1px #000; line-height: 1.2em; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: 330px;margin-left: 170px;} </style> <center> <div class="kensa_table2"> <div class="kensa_text2"> <p class="kensa_lyrics2">i never said that i would be your lover
i never said that i would be your friend
i never said that i would take no other</p> <p class="kensa_message2">Hyaline’s primarch watches the first light of morning spill across the mirrored surface of their lake. The ledge on which she stands is grown thickly with white-trunked aspens, their leaves whispering in the brisk wind that plays across the mountain faces. Something else whispers too, and the meadow takes shape in her mind. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, and she weaves back through the maze of close trunks to find the quiet little snow-melt creek that runs through her mountainside roost.
She has called on Hyaline’s people to be unpredictable, creators of the kinds of little ripples that encourage oxygen to pass through the surface of still water. Today it seems she is called in turn.
In the fetlock deep creek Kensa’s hooves grind against small smooth pebbles but the children sleeping in their grass nests do not stir. The meadow in her mind redraws itself but she resists to watch her young once sleeping a few heart beats more, safe and sound, beautiful.
The creek agitates and she dives into it, headfirst, as though a deep hole waits right before her. Passing into the clear surface and disappearing from the small quiet meadow just as warm golden light arrives to dapple the sleepers.
She passes through water: stream, lake, and then into the fast-flowing artery that flows alongside the meadow.
The river releases the sabino mare and she steps out onto the swath of green that spreads out from its edge and into the shadow of the mountain. Dripping, Kensa lopes into the meadow, looking for the place that matches the sketch in her mind. Sunrise shimmers on her skin, the blond cords of her half-dried mane blowing across her face when she stops before a woman she does not know. Kensa’s topaz eyes are intense, eager, and she greets the stranger with and open and friendly incline of her head.
</p> </div><div class="kensa_name2">kensa</div><div class="kensa_overq">love is madness</div><img class="kensa_img2" src="https://i.postimg.cc/Twj6K8MM/kensadark.jpg"> </div> </center>
i never said that i would be your friend
i never said that i would take no other</p> <p class="kensa_message2">Hyaline’s primarch watches the first light of morning spill across the mirrored surface of their lake. The ledge on which she stands is grown thickly with white-trunked aspens, their leaves whispering in the brisk wind that plays across the mountain faces. Something else whispers too, and the meadow takes shape in her mind. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, and she weaves back through the maze of close trunks to find the quiet little snow-melt creek that runs through her mountainside roost.
She has called on Hyaline’s people to be unpredictable, creators of the kinds of little ripples that encourage oxygen to pass through the surface of still water. Today it seems she is called in turn.
In the fetlock deep creek Kensa’s hooves grind against small smooth pebbles but the children sleeping in their grass nests do not stir. The meadow in her mind redraws itself but she resists to watch her young once sleeping a few heart beats more, safe and sound, beautiful.
The creek agitates and she dives into it, headfirst, as though a deep hole waits right before her. Passing into the clear surface and disappearing from the small quiet meadow just as warm golden light arrives to dapple the sleepers.
She passes through water: stream, lake, and then into the fast-flowing artery that flows alongside the meadow.
The river releases the sabino mare and she steps out onto the swath of green that spreads out from its edge and into the shadow of the mountain. Dripping, Kensa lopes into the meadow, looking for the place that matches the sketch in her mind. Sunrise shimmers on her skin, the blond cords of her half-dried mane blowing across her face when she stops before a woman she does not know. Kensa’s topaz eyes are intense, eager, and she greets the stranger with and open and friendly incline of her head.
</p> </div><div class="kensa_name2">kensa</div><div class="kensa_overq">love is madness</div><img class="kensa_img2" src="https://i.postimg.cc/Twj6K8MM/kensadark.jpg"> </div> </center>
