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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 20:59:52 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 126221
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => ...is power.
[time] => 2006-09-26 11:19:52
[hometext] => this poem is about my own obsession for knowledge and the pain it brings to me. All comments are very much appreciated.
[bodytext] => Hazy coloured halos blacken, Sticking to my eyes, I hear the stethoscope heartbeat, On clone covered surfaces, Mulling through the mildew, Of tile covered mindscapes, Scrubbing at the dirt with dust eaten shoes. They say the monsters live here, The ones that are man made, The IV imbedded tounge that speaks, The tales of ones before, In the loudest of silence, These library halls speak volumes, Clawing at the broken tomes with thumbs so clean. The point moves further into distance, And decays like an afterblur dissolved, A page that turns so many times, In hope to read the secrets dry, Preaches the beautiful vulgarity, And leaves me of my intuition, It teaches me that to know does not always make me better. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 220 [topic] => 76 [informant] => ripper_something_unusual [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => obsession )
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