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Array
(
[sid] => 143430
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => To certain the soft and casual tears
[time] => 2008-06-23 01:57:43
[hometext] => always, abraham
[bodytext] => There are so many things that I cannot say. Tonight the night sky has become a forbidden splendor, and I stand plainly on the porch, smoking a cigarette and considering the moonlight as it divides the stars from their shapes, gradually broadening its fingers until finally seizing the slow, oncoming rain. The rain continues, and I, unaware of the conceptual implications, return to my home, sit idly, occasionally taking a sidelong glance—brought to me by the influences of thought—out the window to see the patter of silver drops striding more and more rapidly along the decade old, unfinished wood of my porch. I drink a cup of coffee and strike vehemently at each key, unconcerned by the dissolution of my thoughts, restrained only by the fears that of my own design innervate old regrets. Often, the past springs from its low place and conceives in me the faces of those I once knew, to know again, and to know the shame of things that I have done. However, I have swept upward from the rivers of my regret to find in the ferocity of storm, the rain hastily increasing, and I am once again able to stand aloof, and certain the soft and casual tears, and turn them away and watch with curtains drawn, the world unfold. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 189 [topic] => 25 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
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