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Array ( [sid] => 134356 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => My own voice. [time] => 2007-05-14 15:51:40 [hometext] => What more is there to say? Maybe tomorrow ^_^ always, abraham [bodytext] => I am tired. Sober. I have been babysitting a beer for a half hour, listening to the same song I cried to years ago.
No tears now, not even the memory of tears- just the dry-eyed memory of a half-full life.

Were it that I was free to choose, I would choose the same path I chose years ago. That I am unable to betray the scars of my arms and the blood and callous of my hands is questionable, but that I could not betray the foolish, casual love that springs from heart to heart that sprang from mine so long ago, is certain.

What would I be without the pain and suffering of love; of loving what was lost by my own hands and my own voice?

To look upon my life honestly I have been as a spoiled child, as an arrogant, greedy man. I am man who walks the world knowing that he has been loved, and has rejected that love, and it is that I am no longer ashamed.

I have begun to unfold my life- as one unfolds, after first finding, a misplaced letter written by a friend many years ago-with reverence and caution, anticipating the smile that comes with each word, unaware and hesitant of the tears that swell with the closing of the page.

I feel that I do not have the right to lay down with words the extravagancy of a plain and simple life-no, in truth it is that I do not have the privilege to meet with words, the uncommon kindness that has been shown to me, despite the cruelty that pervades in my words and my heart.

It is awkward and inspiring, that the gentle mantle of humanity borne upon one man cruel and unyielding can alter that man and let his heart be lifted.

Although my thought will my hands continue, my hands are emptied, and it is in deep regret that I leave the page unfulfilled, and it is in great concern (as it is always at the close) that I leave written here, all the wrong words.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 192 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
My own voice.

Contributed by iodinelove on Monday, 14th May 2007 @ 03:51:40 PM in AEST
Topic: EmotionalPoetry



I am tired. Sober. I have been babysitting a beer for a half hour, listening to the same song I cried to years ago.
No tears now, not even the memory of tears- just the dry-eyed memory of a half-full life.

Were it that I was free to choose, I would choose the same path I chose years ago. That I am unable to betray the scars of my arms and the blood and callous of my hands is questionable, but that I could not betray the foolish, casual love that springs from heart to heart that sprang from mine so long ago, is certain.

What would I be without the pain and suffering of love; of loving what was lost by my own hands and my own voice?

To look upon my life honestly I have been as a spoiled child, as an arrogant, greedy man. I am man who walks the world knowing that he has been loved, and has rejected that love, and it is that I am no longer ashamed.

I have begun to unfold my life- as one unfolds, after first finding, a misplaced letter written by a friend many years ago-with reverence and caution, anticipating the smile that comes with each word, unaware and hesitant of the tears that swell with the closing of the page.

I feel that I do not have the right to lay down with words the extravagancy of a plain and simple life-no, in truth it is that I do not have the privilege to meet with words, the uncommon kindness that has been shown to me, despite the cruelty that pervades in my words and my heart.

It is awkward and inspiring, that the gentle mantle of humanity borne upon one man cruel and unyielding can alter that man and let his heart be lifted.

Although my thought will my hands continue, my hands are emptied, and it is in deep regret that I leave the page unfulfilled, and it is in great concern (as it is always at the close) that I leave written here, all the wrong words.




Copyright © iodinelove ... [ 2007-05-14 15:51:40]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: My own voice. (User Rating: 1 )
by needledancing on Monday, 14th May 2007 @ 10:45:43 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
Many times we do that ponder over our life. Wonderful that you mention you would follow the same path.Grand to hear that your pain has reached inside and taught you what it feels like to be loved. Oh so familiar that you should have chased it further away by your own hands and voice. You sound like the protector of a heart that wants to endure no more pain. Trusting another more than ourselves is the hardest lesson when it comes to loving another. Wonderful that your thought by your hand will continue until those hands are empty. Your words sound very right and very close to home in this heart. Many times have I pondered these thoughts and your words made me ponder some more. My thanks to your deep and heartfelt write. The most honest and truthful piece of work in a long time.
Re naming my pen: (needledancing/pine tree needles are very healing as they dance gracefully to the earth)




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