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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 09-June 19:41:19 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 178941
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Man Made Apple
[time] => 2014-07-29 14:46:41
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Cold comfort. Laid in a sullen park wrapped up in the daily news. Seeking refuge in the front page, lost in tell tale signs of tomorrows lost roads. The system a bench of regret. Needing repair for the screws have already been loosened. Painted colors to define a nation. Faded from the eyes of the color blind. Only seeing what they were told to see. The zombies walk free with tombstones in their minds. Switching from addiction to a secure freedom. Heads in gadgets as the world goes by. Dragging hunger from the soul and nourishment of the heart. They are not dead as one can see, they only follow with blinders. One lost page floats on the ground, waiting for people to see the headlines. For tomorrow may never come. Same words as yesterday. The milk is dry and the honey is lost on the declining bee. As long as the corn flows. Cold I tear the pages without regret. Just stale words on a a dying medium. Head held high I lift it away from the screen. The lies are already old. It's all about control. Time for fabled roads. And freedom without the price. We think we see the dawn of a new day. Just reruns of remakes, and recycled lines. Taste of life, a flavor once so sweet, now comes with a child locked cap. Even the old are unable to open. The pill, the bench all part of the whole. One piece of an already cold pie. And a man made apple... [comments] => 2 [counter] => 450 [topic] => 43 [informant] => lostrelic [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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