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Array
(
[sid] => 122694
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The devils hour (a loss of words.)
[time] => 2006-07-03 19:30:32
[hometext] => N/A always, abraham
[bodytext] => I am at a loss of words. It is three-thirty-one A.M. and I am sitting in a pair of underwear, drinking diet root beer from the bottle. All is quiet, except the wretched, elongated tap of the keys. All is quiet, everybody dies, and I am out of words. I would like to write something on love. I would like to write how love is simple, and how taken by it I am when I look into the eyes of the world, but I do not have the right words. I grow weary of the plastic, shallow beauties that I see when I conjure my poetry. She is not a wild horse loosed in the valleys of my love, but a plain and tempered woman with black hair and brown eyes, crying at the foot of some bed somewhere, with no memory of me but the memory of dirty floors and dirty words. She is not a mountain crumbling beneath the insurgencies of rain, but a haughty, lonely soul scratching the walls in her pleasure, unaware of her own filth and sorrow staining the sheets. Love was never as simple as it was when I was alone. There are words that write her love and her face and her fears all wrapped up in one, but there are no words that open her, and show her from the inside, show what she cannot see. Through every one of us, a river runs, and along the banks of these rivers, there is a man who stands waiting; and in every one of us, there comes a rain, and the rivers flood, and the man kneels before the river and drinks, and as he drinks, he swallows a seed, and the seed becomes love. So in every one of us there is love. Sometimes that love is mute, sometimes it screams; sometimes it is fallen, and sometimes it rises above all other things. I do not have the words to describe the things that I see, the visions that swell inside of me. It is nerve wracking, and I feel that I am alone in this, and that all the love and pain and hopeless that I see is all a dream, and that I will wake soon, and that I will forget, and I am afraid to forget. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 225 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
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