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Array
(
[sid] => 24856
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Preserving Death
[time] => 2003-10-11 15:29:03
[hometext] => Written during a particularly dark and grieving hour. I don't think this amounts to much though, I'm always open for feedback.
[bodytext] => "They have tried." "They have tried to sew the sunlight back into me But all these needles only serve to poison my atmosphere Give me a bed made from shards of glass I see so much more in empty rhymes." In passing through the darkest of all forests Don't stop to ask about the boy who hangs from the sleeping tree. Here lies the one most beloved in her life Forever etched in her mind. These long months have not Decayed his enigmatic features Hair like dark wood still stays as straight as before Skin as pale as porcelain Those gray eyes blink no more Permanently put to slumber by the Grim Reaper's call. He rests, nestled in a bed of ivy vines and sunless flakes The old wound still bleeds persistently Closing and reopening like gruesome puppet mouths When the first red drop soaks into the snow His memorial will show Because he always said He wouldn't want the winter to die. Even in the aftermath She won't let go She'd had an epiphany too late She may have loved him Silent, as if in sleep The boy who hangs from the sleeping tree. "Tapping moonstones against my window Sending brimstones past my eyes These little disturbances can't chain me down I see so much more in empty rhymes." "...I see so much more in empty rhymes, My silent scythe." [comments] => 5 [counter] => 176 [topic] => 39 [informant] => Avarice_Riot [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 13 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
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