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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:01:32 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 119608
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Past
[time] => 2006-05-06 19:46:24
[hometext] => the simpliest objects can tie you to many memories. Some good, some bad.
[bodytext] => A withered rose stays in her hand, As she remembers the days that made her neck hairs stand, Thorns burrow into her clinching fingers, As she wonders where has this love gone, where has it lingered. This rose brings depressing tears to her shallow eyes, Because Its disapeared what she has come to realize, Tears dont bring back time, Time of laying in the swallowing fields as if in sublime. This rose was grown from the cracks of cement, As if planted by mistake, Was this love true or was it fake, Was Cupids arrow straight or was it bent. The rose is dead, But she doesnt care, She will keep it forever, It's the only thing left of those times. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 162 [topic] => 22 [informant] => ElliotRS [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove )
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