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Your sacrifice (Free verse) by Crakyamuni
Christmas is fireplaces and eggnog, sappy hands and sappy hearts, love and affection... but sometimes Sometimes, it's the scars of a poor family whose house has burned to the ground Without when most are with, contradicting the smiles and pure joy of the neighbors children in their large family room window If there is a god- I swear he sees you...But don't expect any favors Just savor this pain and tend your third degree burns on this day after Let your tragedy always remind those around you of the way our celebrated benevolance could only afford so much I thought the pain of solitude on christmas was horrible, until I stopped to recognize the despair in the eyes of your beautiful mother fighting back screams of injustice pointed like menacing shotguns at the heavens Your misfortune on our so-called saviors surfacing day has brought me solace and given me vision we of this fat and blind nation owe you and in our ignorance we find bliss

Up the ladder: Untitled
Down the ladder: Yay for Unspeakable Evil!

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Arithmetic Mean: 5.571429
Weighted score: 5.153681
Overall Rank: 5194
Posted: December 26, 2002 1:52 PM PST; Last modified: December 26, 2002 1:52 PM PST
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Comments:
[10] rockinindividual @ 165.247.93.195 | 26-Dec-02/2:31 PM | Reply
dude....that was powerful and intense and true and amazing and a 10
[n/a] Bachus @ 24.126.113.154 | 26-Dec-02/2:38 PM | Reply
Could you edit it thinner and more verticle? to increase the structures longevity and quicken the read to memory.
[5] wOrnella Mutiw @ 172.172.243.223 | 27-Dec-02/3:08 AM | Reply
is this a short story or a poem??? anyway, here's a 5 for shaving your head and meditating for 5 hours.... Are you a big Richard Gere and Ricky Martin fan?
[0] poetandknowit @ 65.101.212.167 | 27-Dec-02/10:42 PM | Reply
I watched my aunt's apartment complex burn to the ground at Christmastime when I was six. My step-grandfather knocked a candle into a trashcan in the bathroom. That is what started the whole shebang. Some say he did it on purpose. He was an outsider in the family. I think it went on behind backs for years. But he is dead now. I remember sitting on the swings at the little playground there watching the whirl of the fire truck lights and the flames wild twist and turns and families running all over the place and my family and my aunt all crying and hugging each other and praising the lord, which I thought was odd considering the situation, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Unlike this poem.
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