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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 16:38:04 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 155479
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Offence
[time] => 2009-11-29 21:24:44
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Too many sunsets away, hope perched solo With the strong blue poppies, on high mountains The wind blew stories, ice-swept and shuddering Of indurate roulettes tossed around a few whims Notes tumbled E-flat on eerie nothings, surprised The madness was, of some ardent and others inert Of the same entity, a man, and then his whims To call it love, and pour it on the innate porous Surfaces some, exposed in delight, surface scathed To play, till the play swallows her own A time when whim realizes he had had all his bids Opened, answered, granted and realized unknown, And taken away because he was all too frozen And the winds blew stories, ice-swept…shuddering… [comments] => 0 [counter] => 265 [topic] => 13 [informant] => sasha [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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