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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 13:34:44 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 76772
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Thorny Wasteland
[time] => 2004-12-21 15:42:48
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Fruitless endeavours that rot in the sun, leaving their scent to permeate the air and make one's nose crinkle. This is where I walk, meadows littered with decay as corpses of the past rot for eternity. Over there, one can find what is left of Love, beautiful was his face until the buzzards came and took it. And just to the right of Love, if one looks close enough, there lies Happiness. Her hair now matted and her skin yellowing and gray. The trees, now all dead, hang their bone like branches and offer little shelter from the burning acid rain that falls. Desolation calls this place home, land of the forsaken which becomes one's cemetary of the soul. Bones crunch beneath foot as one treads through this barren wasteland of the heart. No flowers to decorate this meadow of dead Love and Happiness, only the thorns of dead rosebushes. Buzzards circle overhead ... Enchantment is all but lifeless, there is no Love left within this bleeding heart as darkness mingles with the light in some surreal scene. Not even the Reaper ventures here ... 13 October 2004 [comments] => 2 [counter] => 161 [topic] => 61 [informant] => taintedsoul [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 9 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => selfstruggles )
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