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  #1    
Old May 26th, 2004 (04:32 PM).
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this is my own stuff, this is pretty difficult poem to understand...but it's about fanatics...

Lover's Fame

On my porch I sat there waiting
Waiting for my Lover's Fame
Hating so the sinful waning
Staining all that we call sane

Paining me, my heart is shaking
Resembling an earthly quaking
Staking out, on porch I'm waiting
Waiting for my Lover's Fame

Fame is such a wordly shaming
Shaming all that call it gaining
Gaining till their minds aren't feinting
Feinting over my Lover's Fame


feeed baaaaack!

BOO ya!
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  #2    
Old May 29th, 2004 (10:07 AM).
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^^NICK^^ v.3.0 ^^NICK^^ v.3.0 is offline
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Cool Poem with hard words! GOODY. Well, my interpretation of the poem (or pome, as people say @_@) is that fame is not all as great as people think it is, and in a way it ruins your life, like you can never see your "lover" because their famous, and doing movies and stuff. Am I right?

~Dazed and CONFUSED Luis
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Old May 29th, 2004 (02:15 PM).
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Blaine Blaine is offline
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Ah, Dakota. Always wonderful work from you. Very very similar to the styles of the old classic rock band Led Zeppelin. This poem is quite interesting and well written. I like it. No angst, which is always a nice thing. The same ole same ole gets very old every once in a while. For once, the big bad Blaine has nothing to criticize. Wonderful job, Dakota. Wonderful job.
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  #4    
Old June 2nd, 2004 (03:00 PM).
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Woopsy Blaine...I got some angst comin! ah! It's about how people overeact to every little thing that may potentially damage someone. Even if the thing is realy insignificant...

This Setting

A place as cold and damp as this
With lace on every orafice
Can't face the lies with shaking fists
That's it's a child's nightmare

The slides and swings
Are present here
Those minute things
Cannot adhere
The damage done
To such a mind
As children loosely shown

So why I ask
Do these things stay?
With warnings passed
To all's dismay
Are going to hurt
And damage all we know
And love


yay...another one BOO ya!
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  #5    
Old June 14th, 2004 (07:39 AM).
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His Hobby

A sweet bird sings to all who hear
And choose to think of yester-year
Of months ago
And weeks gone past
Will burst asunder far too fast

The whitest dove will always perch
To those who think of family first
To those who think
Conceidely
In them a thousand vultures feed

A blue jay's feathers shown with flare
Are things all birds would love to wear
The ones who say
"That bird is fake"
To him? Ignore!...for heavens sake

A Raven's dark and shadowed hood
Is certainly mis-understood
He doesn't not mean
To send you back
He just thinks he looks good in black

Some birds are good and some are bad
And some give lessons to be had
To find the bird
That's surely thine
You have to open up your mind


BOO ya!
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