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Array
(
[sid] => 126393
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The moon is held at ransom.
[time] => 2006-09-30 19:48:33
[hometext] => n/a always, abraham
[bodytext] => I am not the person you remember. I am no longer the smiling carefree boy who thought to dance the quiet summer fields forever. I am no longer the reckless, autumn born dreamer, dashing his dreams across the world. I am a man. A cordial melancholy; compelled to sit quietly at the window considering the weather, moved by and consumed by and iron to the way of the world. I am a man, a failure; the final dream of a dreamer dead and forgotten. There is a sea inside my memory- a wondrous, tumultuous sea- scattering the shards of a thousand broken wings into a leaden and wan horizon. I can still feel the flush of my flesh in the sun and salt air as I sat drawing fingers in the sand. That sea inside of me is long dried up, drifting heavily in the depths of my life; the waters constantly rise. I am as one lost in the deep of the wood in the middle of the night, uncertain of each step, cringing in the darkness, hesitating at each sound-each sound becoming vicious, unrelenting- too afraid to turn back, too afraid to go on. Yet; I find the strength to go on. I stumble through the dark, violently search for and hope for a way out, an end to the darkness. But the darkness does not end, and the daylight does not come, and the sun forgets its strength, and the moon is held at ransom, and the tress are overgrown, and the shadows stand frightening and full in the vast decay of my life. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 329 [topic] => 21 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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