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Array
(
[sid] => 31942
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Chained
[time] => 2004-01-17 12:17:26
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => In the tavern of your mind, glistens with a sadistic twilight. This wonder I behold at last the thunderous clouds light in your mind. O life-slayer of thy souls to me boast not of your pride. For thou hath seen mine light and the house of death. From the tress of minds, scent of death enflames my soul. I still veil thine course. For am I from realization erily a wrong hath I've done, regressing my purpose and mission. O creator, the heart-erupting, soul-jerking; liquid sighs for thy, the night be weeping and the day be sighing in my sins. All this calamity of grief from the sight of thy fallen grace. Hath thy not risen once again for more? My fancy a picture of your aching hands and arching hands, way-layeth not again. Sin hast been untold naught again. To whom shall we utter what things within my veil of souls lost, to think of thy fine bliss. Of your scarlet and your drawn creations of sin, none bath can cleanse. But none may please, river red. What from the fragrant of soul of breeze of red, a foaming sea of blood crashing and crushing against; me and thee. Monsters! At you, I think with trepidation, dwell not for the crowd of life. I shall sight a bloodied hand against, to these unchained men. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 168 [topic] => 2 [informant] => Khosrow [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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