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Array
(
[sid] => 106652
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Writing leaves across the sea. (Truth)
[time] => 2005-09-28 01:03:21
[hometext] => What more is there to say...i'll continue to write. I know nothing else. always, abraham
[bodytext] => There is an autumn day lingering on the forefront of my thought. It is a mild, denim dream writing leaves across the sea. I am not sure how to feel. I am so afraid to cry. There are great pains that suffer nothing in our lives. I am quiet considering a fallen dream. It is the mirror that hollows me. There are so many words that I cannot utter, seeing life pass, day after day. There are so many visions that I cannot speak aloud. I have seen so many ends. Everyday I see somebody die inside. Everyday these sentences come together, everyday these letters form new words. I want to stop. My fingers continue. I am silent. I am never silent. I see a storm. It courses from my mouth; from my very blood it issues forth, consumes time, eats me alive. It eats me alive, How can I make you see? I don't want this. I don't want to do this anymore. But I don't have a choice. This poetry in me consumes me, engorges me, destroys me. I hate it. It is my bane, my vomit, my pain so clear and comforting surrendered on this page. I write because I am possessed to do so. I write the leaves are simply fallen over an open snow; the leopards prowl. There is nothing in this world that I desire more than to look upon this world in black and white. There is nothing in this world that I desire more than to see with someone else's eyes. But there is no end. No end. [comments] => 5 [counter] => 174 [topic] => 69 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 25 [ratings] => 5 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => poets )
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