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Array
(
[sid] => 10029
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Imbroglio
[time] => 2003-01-09 02:00:00
[hometext] => For anyone who has felt an outsider and wanted to be free of all the world's roles and rules...
[bodytext] => Around it spun,
A four-walled calamity Filled with the faces Of all those there with me. One who was smoking, Giving all a dead stare. The piously damning, The one's with no care. The weasel and fox, Both men on the run. The four in the corner Who spoke to no one. The coquette, the sister, The cop and the mob. A killer, a saviour, A sick, atrophied blob. The broke, the unfashionable, Those with all the right parts. Men and women with broken But augmented hearts. A widow, a warrior, A victim of vice. A stolid old coot With a conscience of ice. The joker, the bauer, And court of a king. The wintery young beauty, A child of the spring. A prostrating beggar, A man of all wealth, And in the midst of them all There was standing myself. They all looked my way then, Their glares an indication That I was there on loan, And had no invitation. They began to move in on me, Their anger in tow. What I had done to deserve this I surely did not know. I broke through their ranks then, They toppled in droves, I hit the doorway's edge And half of them dove To clutch at my ankles To draw me back in, The look in their eyes Saying "those who run do not win". But I wasn't playing, I just wanted to leave. So I shut the door quickly And with all I could heave I bolted and latched it, Left it all behind. And I've never been back since, That party's, thankfully, not mine. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 173 [topic] => 21 [informant] => SmokinJoeEvil [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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