Charlotta
Profile
I am a student living in the Blue Mountains, Australia.
I have only started Photography, I don’t have a specific genre but I guess I will pick it along the highway…
I also write stories, poems, lyrics, riddles and other weird little pieces of literature but they never get farther then the dark little corner on my computer i have labelled ‘writings’.
Please comment, I am very interested in what you have to say, the good, the bad and even the ugly, after all its all constructive.
if you want to buy something, (i will be very flattered…), please send me a message when you do buy something, i love hearing that what i do isn’t just for myself….
Groups
Charlotta is a member of 1:1 Macro Photography (Limit: 2 posts per 24 hour period), All About Your Best Work, All Things Poetic, Artistic, Philosophical, Amazing Graves, Angel Wings and Heaven, Art and Stories Made For Children, Bits and Pieces , Flower and Foliage DETAIL - 1 per day (24 hours), Ghostly Images, Gods and Goddesses, Made By Nature - {2 a day} - {challenge theme only!}, Photographers self portrait, The Eyes Have It, The Graphic Room-Graphic and Digital Art and Visual Texture(no pornography,nudes or offensive works).
Art
Writing
The Door Opener
A door opened into Darkness, / It slowly seeped out like ink. / Pleading suffering eyes peered out. / “Please, I want to live,”
How long until we're gone?
I ask how long until we’re gone / far away from this raging storm, / perhaps we should have known / perhaps we couldn’t have,
Trapped
There’s a girl in my head. / She whispers to me from the inside. / She imagines doing things she only wishes she could. / Longing to break out and live her life.
Where do Spiders go?
Where do spiders go when they die? / The bible tells us that no animal can make a conscious decision which could lead to mortal sin so therefore they can have no soul.
The Dream Boxes
There’s an old woman in my dream. / She lives in a little house by a river all by herself. / She holds everyone’s answers. / She keeps all the answers in neatly labelled boxes stacked side by side…
The Necropolis
The stones spoke softly of only silence. / Cold, hard angels cried as they usually did, tears of marble forever running down their flawless cheeks…
