function Time(){
var D = new Date();
var H = D.getHours();
var M = D.getMinutes();
var S = D.getSeconds();
var Day = D.getDay();
var Days = new Array("Sunday", "Monday", "Tuesday", "Wednesday", "Thursday", "Friday", "Saturday");
var Month = D.getMonth();
var Months = new Array("January ", "February ", "March ", "April ", "May ", "June ", "July ", "August ", "September ", "October ", "November ", "Decemeber ");
var Year = D.getYear();
var Type = " AM";
if (H > 12){
H -= 12;
Type = " PM";
}
if (H == 12){
Type = " PM";
}
if (H == 0){
H += 12;
}
if (M < 10) {
M = "0" + M;
}
if (S < 10) {
S = "0" + S;
}
if (Year < 1000) {
Year += 1900;
}
document.getElementById("Clock").innerHTML = "" + H + ":" + M + ":" + S + Type + "";
document.getElementById("Date").innerHTML = "" + Days[Day] + " " + Months[Month] + " " + D.getDate() + " , " + Year + "";
setTimeout("Time()", 1000);
}
if(document.images) {
var menu1 = new Image; menu1.src = "/img/buttons/"
}
function highlight(imgName) {
if(document.images) document.images[imgName].src = "/img/buttons/" + imgName + "1.jpg";
}
function unhighlight(imgName) {
if(document.images) document.images[imgName].src = "/img/buttons/" + imgName + ".jpg";
}
function MissTime() {
var MissTime = "Missing Time
There are those that come before their time but I am one who came after
The time was right, the minds open, like doors tossed aside
Barriers no longer needed, arcane concepts of a patriarchal society
The time was ripe, the people ripe
But was not my time, was not my day
Too soon it came, or too late was I
Once they danced like children in a fever dream
Shamans in the streets, calling to their nameless gods
But now just wolves and snakes stalk the alleyways
Fangs bared, blood calling, the howl the hiss
A time of anger, and not of peace
A time too late, a time too early, a time beyond
Or is it simply that I'm beyond. Out lying from times reach
In the pale moonlight, and darkness embrace
";
document.getElementById("Poem").innerHTML=MissTime;
}
function Forest() {
var Forest = "The Shaman's Forest
The forest of the endless night
The eternal sorrow sung by the wind in its ancient branches
The cry of the animals that roam in its shelter
The screams of the sacrifices, to calling of the rebirth
From death comes life and life comes death
An endless cycle, a wheel ever turning
Forwards backwards it’s meaning the same
No war, no senseless, no prospects of humanity's evils
Just the savagery of nature, its harsh reality
The sweet and simple beauty of its true and raw form
But low in its depths the forest children can be seen
The shaman's dance and dance they call to nature, for they are born of it
It is they and they are it like one
A child seeing its mother and knowing that they are the same
But cloaked in night that which does not wish to be admitted
Can be hidden, in sweet and simple ignorance, unbridled innocence
And happiness is found. These are provided by the forest
And by the song of sorrow in the ancient branches
The roots that make the world, the roots that are all things
For the forest is the world and we are the forest.
Children to its whims, slaves to the animals that rule it
Lost in childlike fantasies to sing and dance til days end.
";
document.getElementById("Poem").innerHTML=Forest;
}
function Phantom() {
var Phantom = "Phantom, I Am
Walking in shadows, calling to darkness
A figure, a phantom, a dream on the verge of waking
Like a spectre gone with the mists
An illusion in the evening breeze
A stirring of the sands, the falling of the snow
Too quick to be seen, too quick to be known
Such is life, as it starts so does it end
A blink of the endless eye of space
To be, to exist, to cease
Never to truly be seen, never to be truly known
For such am I, the faceless phantom
The shadow in the edge of night
The dream, the vivid fever dream
Never to be remembered, but to be seen
In the corner of the eye like a figment
Only to vanish with the turning of a head
And to be lost from thought with blink
";
document.getElementById("Poem").innerHTML=Phantom;
}
function Muse() {
var Muse = "The Muse
Two dark orbs in the moons light
That pale soft glow that is the radiance of her face
Hair like silk, flowing down lost in a delirium
Colour changing, colour swirling
Always the same always different
Lips like satin as they caress the skin
Teeth like the wolves as they sink into the flesh
The tongue that seeks the warm blood
The dark orbs that shine for desire to devour my soul
The lovely bodice to rest my wary head
The hands that stroke my hair, the arms that hold my heart
Keeper of my key, possessor of my heart, mistress of my soul
A slave to her call, and she a slave to my own
Feeding of one another, devouring weakness, gaining strength
As one we are, she is my heart, my soul, my inspiration, my reason
With distance with closeness, my thoughts of her
My senses infected by her, in the air I smell her, in the cold night I feel her
In the soft wind I hear her, and in the crispness of the snow I taste her
All that I am is because of her, my love, my muse
";
document.getElementById("Poem").innerHTML=Muse;
}
function Mother() {
var Mother = "Mother Night
Her face is the moon
Her eyes the sparkling stars
Her hair the endless reaches of Heaven
Her arms the endless shadows
Holding her children close
She is Mother Night
She who does embody all things
That which poets write of
That which bards sing of
Tis not the sun in its harshness
That bids the hearts of new lovers
Tis Mother Night that makes such hearts ache
She who makes men ache to behold her
When seen men burn to be near her
When close they yearn to touch her
A fever, an addiction, a passion
To be close to her, to be bathed in her light
Is to bring out the depths of madness in a man
She brings tears to the faces of lovers
Joy and hope to their hearts
She gives comfort and meaning
Answers to their troubled souls
She gives purpose and direction
When the roads seem dark and uncertain
To feel her in my arms
To hear the whispers of her voice
To smell the air that follows her
To see the oceans of stars in her eyes
To taste the evening's dew upon her lips
To know the secrets of her heart
She is the purest of ideals
The wisdom of ancients
The song of the sirens
The knowledge of antiquity
The peace of memory
And the dark secret of my heart
";
document.getElementById("Poem").innerHTML=Mother;
}