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Array ( [sid] => 137304 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The undeniable embrace. [time] => 2007-09-14 14:45:37 [hometext] => done for now...my heart won't let me go further ^_^ always, abraham [bodytext] => Hello old friend,

It has come to time that I turn to you again, to your undeniable embrace. How long has it been that I refused to turn to look upon your weary time spent face, having etched for long years the valleys and the canyons of my own face, with rage and tears?

I have failed you as an innumerable empty sky fails the imagination when learned that it only reflects the water, and upon itself lays heavily the servitude of guilt for nothing more than the relinquishment of pride. Yet, never fully relieving pride from its heart, it continues on, unabated by its own sense of folly in judging that the imagination is not upheld.

Autumn comes slowly this year, and without the throes of color that, entreasured to the leaves alone, sing prophecies of return—oh, to return to the placidity of spring!—continues drudgingly in the summers heated stand.
[comments] => 0 [counter] => 143 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )

The undeniable embrace.

Contributed by iodinelove on Friday, 14th September 2007 @ 02:45:37 PM in AEST
Topic: EmotionalPoetry

Hello old friend,

It has come to time that I turn to you again, to your undeniable embrace. How long has it been that I refused to turn to look upon your weary time spent face, having etched for long years the valleys and the canyons of my own face, with rage and tears?

I have failed you as an innumerable empty sky fails the imagination when learned that it only reflects the water, and upon itself lays heavily the servitude of guilt for nothing more than the relinquishment of pride. Yet, never fully relieving pride from its heart, it continues on, unabated by its own sense of folly in judging that the imagination is not upheld.

Autumn comes slowly this year, and without the throes of color that, entreasured to the leaves alone, sing prophecies of return—oh, to return to the placidity of spring!—continues drudgingly in the summers heated stand.

Copyright Â© iodinelove ... [ 2007-09-14 14:45:37]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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