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Array
(
[sid] => 134115
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => 99 red balloons float through the ai
[time] => 2007-05-04 23:20:45
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => 99 red balloons float through the air. You’re a RED balloon You’re separated from your 98 brothers and sisters, and your floating high, above the clouds but below the ozone. You pass planes, birds and bigger balloons. Your father balloons Your mother balloons A man reaches out from below one of the balloons and grabs you by your tail "Ouch!" you say. The fear is overwhelming “I don’t wanna be grabbed by my tail” It’s horrid. The man is ignorant. He has no tail. He doesn’t understand its sensitivity. His hands are rough from a lifetime of hard work, and his face is warped and scared. He starts pulling the rope, one hand over the other, moving you closer and closer. You try to run, the only direction you know: Up! But the man is strong and heavy, cumbersome by your standard. He is just a big bag of weight and flab. No grace, no beauty.... As you come face to face with him he smiles at you. You stare straight at his yellow teeth. Behind the gaps in his bite his red tongue peeps out at you, prisoner of that smelly gob. The whole basket suddenly shakes as one of the flames above your head abruptly goes out. The fat man turns and as he does so you make one more attempt at freedom. He loses his grasp and you float off into the distance. You rise and rise. Day turns to Evening. Red and orange fill your vision. The clouds look like flying saucers floating peacefully, oblivious to the chaos the busy world below holds. Evening turns to night The stars keep you company. They whisper sweet dreams into your ear as your eyelids fall, and you drift into a deep slumber. When I awake, I am lying on a green in the mountains. I wasn’t aware I had flown that far! As I am lying there curios squirrels and birds hop over to me for a look. But I am no longer a threat to them. It is ok now They come closer and use the grass from my basket to make their nests warm and fluffy. The fire has gone out. The hot air is gone. I’m ok. My basket becomes their nest; my fire station becomes their refuge and for the balloon itself? Little mice use it to build their nests in it. I am alive again! [comments] => 1 [counter] => 213 [topic] => 5 [informant] => alianddan [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ChildrensPoetry )
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