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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 03-June 07:03:42 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 108178
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The final answer
[time] => 2005-10-21 10:21:59
[hometext] => It's just random really. A thought for a thought ^_^
[bodytext] => The body bleeds. The stars open their eyes. They cannot see. To begin, we must understand. The night is a fervent summer, casting its nets over black desires war. (I fear I am too close to go near. I cannot go on. I press this vision to my hands. My fingers cannot see. ((They are the stars.)) I am lost to the sounding of screams. Not screams; trumpets. Trumpets skewed and forgotten into silence) Morning is an early spring, drying naked in the rain. To understand, we must begin. They see. They are the shadows that we see. The body shakes violently, bellows, and contorts. There is no end to this. This is the final answer: The final passage left for man, is staid wholly in his choice. His life is granted in the waters of his grave, and given there, the answer to his name. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 172 [topic] => 73 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract )
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