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Array ( [sid] => 97129 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Old city bones [time] => 2005-06-07 00:46:32 [hometext] => It gets weak at the end. I got bored with it. Always, abraham [bodytext] => A quiet street across the absent night continues,
coagulates, encompasses the sound and sounds
of dirty city feet crookedly carrying blues

and burdens forward, furthering the endless bounds,
furthering the silent threaded noose across the open page,
until, in the end, we are all suffered flesh eating the flesh of hounds

And vagabonds, cursing our fingers, cursing our age,
set closed with sweat and lies, blood and bone;
set naked weeping for our lives, our rusted, empty cage.

And we remember a time when the bluebirds sang over every phone,
over every wreath and flower, over every house and home;
and we remember, away from the city lights, away from the closing stone,

The smells of a drying, salted mead on the breath of an old, dying tome
calling us brother and sister and fish, telling us stories of long ago days
when a tired old man walked over the sea, over the sand and over the foam;

When that tired old man opened his mouth and sang praise
for you and I, and every little piece of dust and sky.
We remember what we lost in the dirt and haze

Of the fresh city night before the lights sizzle and die,
before the coffee grows cold and the old cities bones
crumble and fall; we remember the lie. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 187 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )

Old city bones

Contributed by iodinelove on Tuesday, 7th June 2005 @ 12:46:32 AM in AEST
Topic: EmotionalPoetry

A quiet street across the absent night continues,
coagulates, encompasses the sound and sounds
of dirty city feet crookedly carrying blues

and burdens forward, furthering the endless bounds,
furthering the silent threaded noose across the open page,
until, in the end, we are all suffered flesh eating the flesh of hounds

And vagabonds, cursing our fingers, cursing our age,
set closed with sweat and lies, blood and bone;
set naked weeping for our lives, our rusted, empty cage.

And we remember a time when the bluebirds sang over every phone,
over every wreath and flower, over every house and home;
and we remember, away from the city lights, away from the closing stone,

The smells of a drying, salted mead on the breath of an old, dying tome
calling us brother and sister and fish, telling us stories of long ago days
when a tired old man walked over the sea, over the sand and over the foam;

When that tired old man opened his mouth and sang praise
for you and I, and every little piece of dust and sky.
We remember what we lost in the dirt and haze

Of the fresh city night before the lights sizzle and die,
before the coffee grows cold and the old cities bones
crumble and fall; we remember the lie.

Copyright © iodinelove ... [ 2005-06-07 00:46:32]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Old city bones (User Rating: 1 )
by shelby on Tuesday, 7th June 2005 @ 03:17:16 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

breath taking write and dont even have words to fit this
Michelle

Re: Old city bones (User Rating: 1 )
by sillysal on Saturday, 1st April 2006 @ 05:25:49 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I would not separate this into stanzas but it does need a break now and again.

It also tends to ramble a bit but I enjoyed the read nonetheless.

:)Sandy

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