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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 11-June 06:42:57 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 169219
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Iggy, Ed, and Sam
[time] => 2011-12-11 15:44:05
[hometext] => This poem is all about crossing an invisable line, on one side we have morality on the other . . . who realy knows. It has been a while from my last post please tell me what you realy think. - B
[bodytext] => On a misty night in the great city, on a street which has no name, stands a tree that does not belong. It stands vibrant against the dark, and the green of the others. It’s foliage which it once embark, as an attribute of life, lies soiled on the ground. All can now see the nakedness, of truth that was once hidden. Upon the Truth sits three brothers, Iggy, Ed, and Sam. Iggy is the first born and the most primitive of the three, Ed is the youngest his reality knows no bounds, and Sam is the middle whose job is to watch and keep in check the other two. These three have marks of blood brothers, they are grey and black running across their entire being. The one thing I will never forget is there big black beady eyes. The brother’s watch as the night wore on; for I had found what I was looking for. From below the ground arose the one who had always eluded me; it was time to act, to do what I was born to do. It was bliss, our bellies touched like frogs, primal screaming for all to hear, and the heat to which none could escape except for me. I could extinguish there history with but one foul swipe. It would be easy I have done it many times before; as I was about to act, those cursed eyes look deep into me. Try as hard as I might, I was not able to make a sound, I was forced to lie there and do nothing, they had all the power, which I gave them. I then realized within those eyes was what I feared most, it was not what they were going to do, but what I have done. Slowly a white light started to devourer, that most tranquil place of solitude. I woke with a start, in a room with no windows, just pillow walls, that I had known all my life. How I wish I could be the real me . . . a tree in a misty city. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 130 [topic] => 61 [informant] => b_lee [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => selfstruggles )
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