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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 20:24:37 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 81924
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Gray Cloud
[time] => 2005-01-28 22:19:23
[hometext] => comments....plaese
[bodytext] => Late has been the hour, For all the time has passed. And ther are no remains, Of moments that once existed, Joy that was once alive. Late has been the hour, For making amends and a drastic transformation. Too long has the substance been evaded. Too much time has been wasted And has constantly kept things waiting. The hour is late, And all things, they fade. The fluid that can no longer flow, We still evade. W ith open arms, And closed doors, No foundation, But firm floors. On the house resting on the highest mountain peak, The rain continues to pour, And withers away what is left of the ruin. That will be smighted down on the mountain side in shame. But is still looked upon as the Imortal Tower. And even though it does not matter. Late has always been the hour. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 176 [topic] => 71 [informant] => ROUGE [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => secrets )
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