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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 20:44:46 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 53333
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Unsighted
[time] => 2004-06-23 10:45:28
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The air was brisk; a delightful contrast to the languorous spirit of the night. The moon was full; the sky was cloaked with stars. Roads barren; each house alight. This duskiness seemed a myriad of colours. By the light of the street lamps we loitered. Our eyes gorging on the limpid skies above. The air, crisp and invigorating, chilled our bones with its every fateful gust; it slowed our pace. Our breath fogged the air; our voices penetrated the silence. In the bleakness of the moonlight, all was hushed; and all was still. The sound of crunching snow was muted; thus done against our will. And ‘bout in simultaneous turns our heads spun at a sound: a rapping gentle, yet unblurred of something close around. We gawked and gaped in urgency, to see from where it came. Our eyes beheld a distant figure, walking slow and lame. We neared the silhouette, and fast approached it, spry and quick- and then we saw it; in the old man’s hand was a white stick.. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 164 [topic] => 30 [informant] => xldyalicex [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => PoemsonBeauty )
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