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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 01-June 10:46:03 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 166164
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Phoenix
[time] => 2011-05-04 11:24:32
[hometext] => This is a poem from a collection of six that I wrote, exploring the life of a man faced with an impending apocalypse. ( cheerful I know )
[bodytext] => 'Please stop the crying, Father.' Do trust me, I’m okay. It’s just.. we’re edging closer to that dreaded final day. 'You cry for mother, Father?' I see her, in my dreams. Yet since she left my side my world is glass, covered in steam. 'Come play catch with me, Father. There’s still plenty of light.' I would not have you taken if they came searching for fights. My son looked to his feet, his features riddled with despair. I smiled, and grabbed the tennis ball, and stroked his golden hair. And as the ball flew back and forth, we shared a simple joy. I saw that there was hope within the spirit of the boy. That night the wind was cold, as we finished our provisions. I had to ask my son about his cheerful disposition: 'I read about a Phoenix, and the fire it creates, when it’s life comes to an end, and it’s ancient mind deflates. It sets itself to ashes in a pile upon the ground, and leaves no other memory save that solitary mound. But from the dust of ruin comes a shrill, defiant cry, as the Phoenix resurrects and spreads its scarlet wings to fly.' 'And so my dearest father, are you now able to see? As the Phoenix rises from the dust, some happy day, might we.' I looked upon the dying plains, the fields of genocide. My son was more a man than I, I shed a tear of pride. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 73 [topic] => 43 [informant] => Morgo [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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