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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 12-June 23:02:13 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 109881
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Grandfather Clock
[time] => 2005-11-16 20:34:15
[hometext] => This poem seemed to have 'spawned' from a different poem (guess which one) when I was revising and I decided to submit it as a different poem because... it is a different poem. Just not terribly different.
[bodytext] => Curling ivy slithers, Engulfing the wall With vigor as though The sun had still shone, As though it still lit this brick wall. Sickly ivy creeping, Consuming it all. The doorknobs had forever rusted, The floor-ridden newspapers had once mattered. Dust and dark prevailed Over marble unchiseled and unbusted, Covering walls on which paint was splattered. Dust and dark reigned Over mouseholes in wall moldings. Blanketing bookshelves with antique holdings. The ticking rings through the dark, The tocking of a great wooden clock, The ticking of a time forlorn, A time long forgot. Weaving through the tapestries' threads, Dancing up the fireplace, Along the blackened chimney, Eternity it treads. Had ballets been performed, And masterpieces shown? Was it an old hermit here, Who lived alone? This house will never see moonlight, sunlight again, Condemned as a convict with his last meal. Here a fatal ball swings Where the pendulum glinted real. The walls crash down, The ivy is crushed. Amidst the ground uplifted, the earth unsettled, A ticking is heard across the field. A tocking grand clock of mahogany wood Stands proudly among the rubble. It's pendulum still swings with a brazen glint, Sending greetings to the morning sun, Reminding that all hope is not lost Even though all is not yet won. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 144 [topic] => 43 [informant] => Aeturos [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 8 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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