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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 17:32:45 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 5101
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Epitaph
[time] => 2002-10-15 08:15:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => A man lies here,
Beneath this pile of dirt. A man so bright, yet he Dimmed himself in front of Strangers’ eyes, In order to stay silent. This pile of dirt Is the only home he ever owned, Even though in his life He loved many places. His heart belong to God, But he gave it out freely, As if it had no worth. His eyes were always dull, Hiding his true feelings, As he did not care For this earthly world. He had many friends, But he died lonely, Although not alone. Many had stolen his heart But only one kept it With the touch of an angel. She was his only hold In this world. Don’t mourn this man, Rather, mourn his dreams, His hopes, and those That knew him, For none of them could find The real him. As you read these words upon This stone which Tears, fiery red And hotter than the most passionate Love, Have burned on this rock, Weep not. You did not weep for him When the worm of a lost love Burned through him, So weep not now that The worm of the earth Feeds of his carcass, For he is finally at peace, And you never knew him. All you need to know now Is that he loved a happy love, Even for a while. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 256 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Corruptor [notes] => [ihome] => 1 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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