Array ( [sid] => 106891 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => This means nothing. [time] => 2005-10-01 18:45:58 [hometext] => ^_^ always, abraham [bodytext] => From the beginning it was overrated.

A bridge away, a man swigs whiskey and spittle from an empty bottle.

One bridge up, another man eats the filth from his nails.

This means nothing.
This is the moment of perspective.
This means nothing;
The stars are split and sag from heaven,
The stars a futile pit, raging and sullen.
This means nothing.
It is only a moment of perspective.

The wall is stained brown, spilling its soul on their shoulders.
They wait. They struggle for timelessness.
They do not succeed.

The wall is stained, giving its name to the train passing by,
giving its soul to the laughter inside.

The wall is stained. They wait.
The wall is stained, giving its soul to the laughter inside.
They wait.

This means nothing.

[comments] => 3 [counter] => 170 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => Second Poem Removed by Moderator_15 [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - This means nothing.


This means nothing.
Date: Saturday, 1st October 2005 @ 06:45:58 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: iodinelove
From the beginning it was overrated.

A bridge away, a man swigs whiskey and spittle from an empty bottle.

One bridge up, another man eats the filth from his nails.

This means nothing.
This is the moment of perspective.
This means nothing;
The stars are split and sag from heaven,
The stars a futile pit, raging and sullen.
This means nothing.
It is only a moment of perspective.

The wall is stained brown, spilling its soul on their shoulders.
They wait. They struggle for timelessness.
They do not succeed.

The wall is stained, giving its name to the train passing by,
giving its soul to the laughter inside.

The wall is stained. They wait.
The wall is stained, giving its soul to the laughter inside.
They wait.

This means nothing.



This poem is Copyright © iodinelove


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