 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 21:26:30 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 102238
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Sunday Mourning
[time] => 2005-07-29 06:59:58
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I remember deep purple blacklights, and magical firefly yellows that teased the darkness— darkness heavy like a squinted brow. Everywhere I turned, cold air found my face like a silk pillow. It was a Saturday night, but neon faces revealed only funeral procession angst. -No smiles- You sat Indian style on cobweb, wooden stage planks, tuning your guitar like you were Picking lint from its corners— you could’ve done it blind, but kept your head down, your eyes—the fetal coward, curled in the corner, taking kicks. When you stood there, in front, your protruding hips holding up your electric guitar— when you stood there, and those first syllables poured through your bitten lips— when you stood there, the lights molded around your delicate ears and sifted through your hair, and you were a martyr, Sullen in your sacrificial craft. Everyone held their breath when you cried lyrical tears, and everyone watched, and wanted to save you. I imagined you and I under covers. You were happy and had blue eyes. I pulled the linen up over my head, and those same fireflies lit my mind, and I saw the frail hairs on your arms and neck glowing in a dim yellow forest. And you laughed and you were happy. Later on, I realized why no one was smiling. They were watching an execution, a sacrifice—someone reliving her pains, and dying all over again. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 2 [informant] => nosoup4crr [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com