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Array ( [sid] => 127025 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Summer Snow (a thought of melancholoy) [time] => 2006-10-16 23:35:39 [hometext] => Always, abraham [bodytext] => A thought of melancholy, a summer snow, works its way up the sidewalk at my feet,

Three houses in crumbling square regality throw their vines like fishers in the deep, to the centers of their sorrow, their windows long unable to cast away the dust from their eyes,

The smell of Honeysuckle burns my throat, cascades a sweet rain over my hair, on my lips, my fingers rest on the velvet, golden hue, and cross, as one might cross an old, decrepit log, wondering upon the scant and filmy water below.

Lingering briefly at the hedgerow of fences, I forget the bleak frozen sting of the bile and stench,
Forget the bustling car sailing the dead and starless night left in shards along a sea of indifference and greed, forget the windows, long unable to cast away their sight to the sun, blinded by the miserable stale curtains bleeding lonely through the streets,

Forget the old drunken man rambling on and on, forget the frail insensitive woman looming in the shadows of the street, wearing her mascara like bruises on the ground, dancing and laughing at the sounds of the screams of the silence that surrounds her,
Forget the tired father searching, constantly calling, misty eyed and calling for his lost and missing daughter, his daughter junked up vomiting naked by a man who lies love and strength and honesty, his daughter junked up vomiting naked by a man crying for her father,

Forget the desert the blood the cries the children hiding snickers in their sleeves,
Forget the fat, putrid smell of humanity while they sweat on their sofas and couches and chairs stuffing their faces with filth and failing to see what they see everyday in the mirror, too afraid to turn from the T.V. too afraid to speak or sing or shout the things that they think,

Forget the blood pouring down all of our streets, forget the wasted tears and wasted time.
I’ve wasted so much time.
[comments] => 0 [counter] => 145 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
Summer Snow (a thought of melancholoy)

Contributed by iodinelove on Monday, 16th October 2006 @ 11:35:39 PM in AEST
Topic: EmotionalPoetry



A thought of melancholy, a summer snow, works its way up the sidewalk at my feet,

Three houses in crumbling square regality throw their vines like fishers in the deep, to the centers of their sorrow, their windows long unable to cast away the dust from their eyes,

The smell of Honeysuckle burns my throat, cascades a sweet rain over my hair, on my lips, my fingers rest on the velvet, golden hue, and cross, as one might cross an old, decrepit log, wondering upon the scant and filmy water below.

Lingering briefly at the hedgerow of fences, I forget the bleak frozen sting of the bile and stench,
Forget the bustling car sailing the dead and starless night left in shards along a sea of indifference and greed, forget the windows, long unable to cast away their sight to the sun, blinded by the miserable stale curtains bleeding lonely through the streets,

Forget the old drunken man rambling on and on, forget the frail insensitive woman looming in the shadows of the street, wearing her mascara like bruises on the ground, dancing and laughing at the sounds of the screams of the silence that surrounds her,
Forget the tired father searching, constantly calling, misty eyed and calling for his lost and missing daughter, his daughter junked up vomiting naked by a man who lies love and strength and honesty, his daughter junked up vomiting naked by a man crying for her father,

Forget the desert the blood the cries the children hiding snickers in their sleeves,
Forget the fat, putrid smell of humanity while they sweat on their sofas and couches and chairs stuffing their faces with filth and failing to see what they see everyday in the mirror, too afraid to turn from the T.V. too afraid to speak or sing or shout the things that they think,

Forget the blood pouring down all of our streets, forget the wasted tears and wasted time.
I’ve wasted so much time.




Copyright © iodinelove ... [ 2006-10-16 23:35:39]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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