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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 13:07:53 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 68349
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Hall of Fame for Fists
[time] => 2004-10-21 12:51:43
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => A hall of fame for fists Mural painted over with crimson Chasms made of anger Knuckles bleeding dry Making puddles on the floor On walls that take everything Pound away the rage Not wanting to hurt anyone A soul that needs venting No one gets in the way of As echoes from crashing hands On concrete Can be heard from far away The wall seems to fall apart But it’s me who has reached his limit Heavily come crashing down And all goes dark again The floor is cold and familiar From when my anger last took control And my demons became me Locked my self in my room And took it out on the wall again That is now just broken bits of plaster And here again on the floor Slowly reawakening And looking at my gallery My hall of fame for fists Where my best work is done And my soul is set free [comments] => 1 [counter] => 140 [topic] => 6 [informant] => Doriens_Picture [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => AngryPoetry )
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