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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 09:36:37 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 48363
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Crystallized in the Transition Between Infinity and Nothing.
[time] => 2004-05-20 07:45:37
[hometext] => i consider this to be my best work ever, please read.
[bodytext] => Crystallized in the Transition Between Infinity and Nothing. Padlocked By Knowledge and Missing the Key of Truth To Open All Locks. Roses lain gracefully on a lowered coffin. The suicide that took place after truth and knowledge were appointed. I found what no one was ever meant to find. The misconceptions… Of Religion: Magnesium striving to lament the moon’s lottery. A broken armed hanging of the rightfully accused innocent. The past never seemed so contradicting. But in hindsight everything is crystallized. Brought to life through a fountain of dashing pupils. Closed and clicked, locked onto all of our sins. We watch in disdain as speech is impended. Waiting for the references of how our lord will miraculously save us if given the chance. This ostentation flows straight over our Sunday morning hats. What’s The Point? Of Love: The propensity of the surreal, the simplest and most complex façade. Completely symmetrical, like the right angle of a triangle. A hypotenuse made up of: meeting, falling, dying. Angles that lean towards faked, mediocre movement. Movements away from breaking, I can’t wait to see your new Sunday dress. Reflecting your mood like rain clouds; suspicion falling on those pretty daisies. Bees attracted by the color, infatuated as lovers are. And their sting is the worst of all, which comes after they are finished. Blinding poison, lacerating your heartstrings as you immerse your late night reading in tears. What Is Real? Of Beauty: Staring blatantly into a mirror, hiding yourself behind societies projected image. Diving under rolls of make up, this isn’t where you find your beauty. Go deeper, deeper than the words you speak, than your hearts contractions. To the intangible, your perplexed soul never rests easy. Your skin cannot survive these transitions and your screams to be noticed fall on deaf ears. The common permutation of perception, escaping what is real. But what cannot be touched, it is ironically true beauty that is intangible. The mirror cracks and scars your face; you will be looked upon differently even though your beauty hasn’t changed. Is this right? The roses are buried on polished and varnished wood. The petals burst to flames and I am crystallized. Thrown into a state of pure perfection. One of: Religion, Love and Beauty. The last inscription and dying wish, given as advice to anyone struggling their way through this tattered world: Get back to basics, Keep your head up. Stay out of trouble. Look right. Look left. One foot in front of the other. Cross road. See you at the intersection. [comments] => 6 [counter] => 167 [topic] => 43 [informant] => infedelity_hurts [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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