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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 19:40:03 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 58948
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => High and low.
[time] => 2004-08-05 01:28:40
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => A helmet lies on a tortured field stained rust red, with the tears of enraged innocence corroded with the acrid stench of inhumanity. A bird busily builds her nest in the burnt out shell of the church, Christianity is not yet dead! Mothers search the mountains of the dead with haunted visions in their eyes, wanting to meet their sons yet dreading the meeting thats to come. The glorious flower of youth is gone before, to sit on the throne of compassion and judge those to come. The mother meets her son and looks to the sky, with stinging tears of loss trickling from her eye... [comments] => 1 [counter] => 184 [topic] => 39 [informant] => backstreetdreamer [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 13 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
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