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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 22:14:47 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 162971
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Omnia Transeunt (All things pass)
[time] => 2010-10-28 21:12:48
[hometext] => always, abraham
[bodytext] => There is a pen before me, gone unused, unacquainted with the porous surface of my skin, left to wait, left to suffer time. Time has taken its toll. There is a bridge between us. How easy it is to say that there is power in the pen, that the sword falters, or is thrust away, shattered by the simple presence of the truth. Today there is no truth strong enough to end war, to have crumbled what is built in spite of truth. So the pen waits, and the words are lost even as they are written, and if they speak, they are too soft to hear, or are spoken in loneliness or grief and thus are cast aside in lieu of happier times. From my hands, no great words pour forward, no revelation ushers from my voice. I do not have the truth All I have is time—scattered across decades, hung at intervals—time wasted on words, too gaudy to speak, too broken to sing. I have no words of encouragement, no illustrious prose to cradle the heart. The time has passed [comments] => 2 [counter] => 357 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
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