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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 14:29:29 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 103625
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Her Hands
[time] => 2005-08-16 04:52:49
[hometext] => always, abraham
[bodytext] => Her hands... Her hands are trembled stone coupled at a waters edge; confusion colored gray; slipping in the rain. Her fingers press, twilight conceives the sky; her fingers lift, the sun is burdened with a kiss. In writing her, I fail. I cannot contain the lithe, and fragile frame of her hands; the sadness to each touch, the strength. I fail, yet even in my failure I am driven to capture her, to bind her by this page. She is a wild, pale horse loosed in the prairies of my love. She is a white night crawling across the stars. I cannot even have her in my dreams. She is not deserved to bind with poetry and pain. She is not deserved to fall beneath the shadows of my heart. She must be free. She must be. It is the cage that shatters her. She is the caged bird freed, failing to fly, failing to face the thunder with the sky. None of this... None this comes close to what it is that I feel a need to say. She is the dawn shattered over the sea. She is a quiet night breathing cold, brisk air. She is my poetry cradled and consumed by love. She is the bitter wine ground sweet. I love her. I love her and I cannot say it, write it, paint it, any other way. She is not to be contained, woven into words, poured over paper. She is free. She is beautiful free. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 160 [topic] => 2 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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