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Post by Icor on Aug 17, 2005 1:24:02 GMT -4
Calluses of the Mind
Gold, touched shores of one ocean stretched in election, Churned heaps, full, complete and mundane perfection, Prime examples of dead symbols, keys, and cold whispers, Washed by salt a seaside grave with lovely, winter blisters.
Pale, sinful delusion nailed to shady scars and corroded dreams, Deprived of destructive desires linger memories, hanging on melting seams, Historical, malcontented hopes protested endlessly by every graining, white stain, Blue flags peek in praise of a powerful, sky-dusted moon against the watery plain.
Bouquets rot in black tar, set with skinless, clattering bodies, Broken bones speak for broken tears, weeping light melodies, One deaf, white petal of their soul-strung art laugh at heavens, hymns, Living for no one, suffering guilty burdens, pleasured spirits, and dims.
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Post by Icor on Aug 17, 2005 1:28:42 GMT -4
This is a better one: I write well when I’m ready to pass out from sleepiness.
Anyway... This is a sad story about one beach somewhere on earth being the graveyard of the last living people on earth, and last living organism for that matter: a bouquet. A man or woman buries his/her, and the world's last companion, and then dies. However, all the memories and information cannot escape the earth, so they flee and search for energy. They come up with a way to preserve a single flower petal, and survive on its delicate, slowly waning life, keeping mankind alive in spirit just for a little while longer on the very thing a great many consider to be some kind of symbol of love.
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Post by Nymiane on Aug 17, 2005 12:23:00 GMT -4
Wow! Amazing poem. I love it.. It leaves ya in the "wow" factor. This piece puts my work to shame.
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Post by Icor on Aug 17, 2005 17:38:43 GMT -4
Hee... thanks.
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Post by ladydragonrider on Sept 6, 2005 15:33:54 GMT -4
Sad and most definately morbid. I liked it alot; you have a sense of... how do I put this?.... 'violence' in it, but its still retains some innocent beauty.
095/100
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