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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 23:25:49 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 123392
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Rooted
[time] => 2006-07-18 20:58:42
[hometext] => Rooted
[bodytext] => I’m the collective teller to the elder trees Who relate along with sad stories Of being rooted and aging while the world just flies you by And how this mind, it falls like their leaves While the crumbling conscience grieves All wrapped and worn under another season’s torment They collect it all like gravestones would Sap it off, or at least they should Let it bleed down them, till pain’s like rain, washing right away But me the teller, shackled to human form Am not given excuse or ability to transform I must walk away; let these birth given legs give me no pity All so on trudging apart of this world To which has not been politely placed, but rather hurled Where it’s necessary to act like the frame’s I’m freed from Grabbed by the wing of mother destiny Whom clenches tight and burns the tree She whisper’s aching, piercingly, “See the ashes, you’re no ashes” The ashes, ashes of beauty’s child Set divertingly amongst unknown wild Smiling clenched, truth is revealed in the power’s burn See mother destiny? You’ve lost control The bark’s crisped, but behold the soul You’ve freed it; there it goes to world’s we only dream So true, the teller I am, was in speech That weakened the clench, released with a foul screech And so two again, were one, and one was on the run I’m always on the run, [comments] => 0 [counter] => 145 [topic] => 21 [informant] => franciswolf [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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