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Array
(
[sid] => 7422
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => File
[time] => 2002-11-24 23:00:00
[hometext] => I guarantee, not one of you will get this.
[bodytext] => The realm he currently inhabits is tainted and a little black... many times, and left for us to ponder out the inequities of some sadness.
Exhibit A: An epiphany of loose-leaf sheets, that care not to bode a thought for a wilted tree, and its last breath contains... (nil). He claims he can almost forget everything, yet it is an untruth, when the loop says lies, that is when we all begin to spin. And it's about as automatic in failure as when we look closely to see what we contain, metaphoric anti-venom derives (place heart here) as an insult, continual vicious memories return, return for all of us to share. Vivid is the construction of some sort of soul, that it appears can be blown apart so fast that no one would have even seen it coming. Anger is little more than trouble, but... multiply every spoken sentence, and see what ash remains. Exhibit B: The higher he continues to count, the more the walls crumble... just a little bit at a time. Egocentricities press against the sides in hope... the conclusion though, is yet to be determined. Today, he feels sick, nicely done though, 29 words and a refresher course in crashing to the ground. An impressive ability to destroy, it doesn’t matter I guess, much more to experience in continued evolution. All there is now... is silence, and it continues to smash against the rocks in a familiar pattern, do waves think about the destruction they care to cause? He just looks frail from inside... like it has all be stripped away that quickly, amazing... but far from a miracle, or perhaps far from anything, emptiness, is how he sing he feels. Shift everything to the left...and fall, or pretend. ‘*’ Exhibit R: Plants are shown growing from my hand... some begin to die inside from repeated crushing. This reflects from the shiny part of the sword. Place weeds around my head; extract every thought. * Missing exhibits may have been swallowed. So what have I left then to yell? Pitiful nothings that circle around, all meaning only a little more than something we would all toss aside, when he does his best he is shut down, if your eyes saw clear, your life would lock in place. Yet in the end the stars are still there, giving the option to float and see more of what is there. Refuse to hold past things that are no longer a part of you, even if it stings, Even if it hurts. Well, that wasn’t what I believed... but it looks like that’s the way. New: 168 and counting. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 244 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Damon_Maynard [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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