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Array
(
[sid] => 107352
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => In the mourning sun
[time] => 2005-10-08 22:26:51
[hometext] => Rimbaud says, 'rock him warmly, mother earth: he is cold'
[bodytext] => upon a lonely pillow, i place my weary head closed eyes feigning sleep, wishing for rest can't be living, my thoughts in this dark room for if it is, then surely i have failed the test the total of the importance of my entire life would not fill the back of a cheap postcard all the adventure, love, fear, hope and strife was never important and rememberance, hard what could have been plagues all my todays as i meander through this tiny slice of time but if i could, would i have it some other way to make present existence just purely sublime who have i known and yet not ever myself the same claim for those whose minutes i've shared never realizing why we occupied that dusty shelf and didn't touch the heart and soul of any that cared thinking how much could be said of how and all i've lost that thread of hope stringing the past dreams with now what does it matter if i can't ever pay the cost who would have saved me from myself, anyhow so, with my spoonful of self-worth, i rise about to embark again on this futile journey crying but now without the tears i despise the only way out is on the cororner's gurney [comments] => 3 [counter] => 240 [topic] => 65 [informant] => reprobate [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => toughstuff )
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