Holographic Nights

Please come and read Cate Derham’s – beautiful “HOLOGRAPHIC NIGHTS”
Be sure and do some snooping around her blog and enjoy her other writings too!! Come and meet Cate, and you may want to make her one of your new friends too!!

Here is – Cate (from her about page): Hi! My name is Cate. I’m 28. My passions are photography and writing. I like taking long walks by myself. I love music, reading and hiking, spending time with friends, and summer days and nights on the beach.

Venice Diaries

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2 thoughts on “Holographic Nights

  1. FOR Cate
    Secret Room j brooke
    There is a room, a secret room, Cate’s room silhouetted with in a maze of sepia tones, crushed of prisms of in and of crystallized Peridot, as Agate and Aquamarine powder shadows dancing and pirouetting on a ballerina toes. It is a quiet world where another secret lives and candle flames flow and ebb, dancing, fluttering, and pirouetting as a ballet of Monet water color spider webs.
    There is a room, a quiet room, deep luxuriant sea bird water pools of grays, cobalt blues and ocean greens, mimic as an emeralds shame, as faceted sun of un shamed shards of parts of nights of moon light liquid beams unnamed as colors gather as mistresses of this world. It is a cosmos of creation crushed of flint and fires might, satins, silk and candle light. Evolved of flames waxing into center cut, of a women who within and in her heart, lives the birth of her passionate’, her children of paper words, her way and she is magnificent’ as the satiated pain that does crush her heart so sorrowfully and forever is so very eminent’.
    There is a room, a incandescent room, and there is music woven within her cotton sheets. It is spun of melodic, rich and cast within crinoline octave rainbows of her mind, bowed and bending as is she, apart of she and it is her. She is love and lazing and on a paper white of throne is where she sits, tears, smiles and wept scorn sobs are remnants, of her grief, her joy and she is naked, exposed and forever reminiscent and in petulant.
    There is a room, a shadow room, shy and sweet and shrouded from the prying eyes, where dwells a moment nude of memory of her secrets and her lies, of her grief, skin near her alabaster skin, blended in a symphony of symphony her eyes, flaming flames of ruby hair, distant, troubled, charred of fire, as iced diamonds felled within the fulcrum of a cindered hell, for they are fire diamonds for her loves, her blood of strife, her words and above all her need for love and life. Genius and savant, a whore and mistress to her memories as a child, that is a vehicle forever whisked along the hurricanes of her mind, always fingertips away from happiness, a moment lost and unimaginable so impossible for her to mine.
    There is a room, an elegant room, and there is a women, bending, stripped of garments of her shame, her face a reminder that beauty for beauty’s sake is vapid, insipid, unless there cut within the story of her eyes, those tourmaline eyes, there, in madness of her brilliance of her ever roving and natures pertinence, surely struck of softness, joy and the pathos of indeterminable elegance. Dignity, fury and a color yet discovered from the artist pallets of the universe, where stars burst and comets race to tell that there is magic once again, life restored along the frozen silver water dust, the translucent back lightening of her eyes, and there is earth, and there is air and there is water, and there is her, A queen of sorrow and gaiety and of sweet and sweetness of temerity.
    There is a room, a weeping room, and it is the home of the pearl paper queen and there is a door, void of key and it is hidden in her heart, in a locket not of gold, nor held of platinum chain, and it fits within a secreted and lost and stolen lock, and none can see, or enter of the room, for it is guarded by her pain.
    There is a room, a secret room, Cate’s room, filled of photos of black and white and sepia tones of photos taken from her brilliant mind, of pain, hope, loss and love denied pathos she has ever only known and I apologize for my ignorance and my woe, for that is all I know of her, or at least my lost world I forever roam.


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