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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 15:14:24 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 174152
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => ...and, it was beautiful
[time] => 2012-10-30 10:50:45
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => ...and so it ended, the guns laid quiet, and through the rain shot only the howls and the silence stood still, amidst the swollen rubble they surveyed their work, and it was beautiful. Who could not love, pools of blood? Death and water, carried along to the gutter. And all the roofs, gone. And the dead lay still, the children not playing but rotting—their eyes but marbles against skin, and that same skin receding into the skull, their mouths full of water and empty of words. ...and so it was, the rain pattered out the fire; the guns and washed the dead, and dressed the stones with damp. The blood never stopped writhing. ...and, it was beautiful. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 143 [topic] => 43 [informant] => me1234 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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