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Array
(
[sid] => 156245
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Loneliness
[time] => 2009-12-25 21:01:42
[hometext] => always, abraham
[bodytext] => Loneliness-- It is not until we are alone that we see the isolation our hearts sustain in those that we know. Loneliness is a madness in which others cannot see our dreams in whole, but in pieces only, or cannot take our tears for the depth at which they rise, but only as an innate effect, an indication of our wounds. Loneliness is that sight that looks forward and sees nothing but what lay behind, and in its permeation, the heart cannot strip away the regret of that which it perceives. We are all lonely, and often it is not clear to us the extent of our loneliness until that time that we open our hands to the ones we love to illustrate the devotion that we possess, only to find that that devotion is of no value to them. That our love for them is as squandered easily as the dusts of the earth. In loneliness, we find the anguishes that lie in the remains of old friendships, and dwell upon those sorrows that from happiness springs, and our hearts wane, heavily burdened by the kindnesses and the cruelties they have seen. There is no end fit enough for love or hate, no beginning convincing enough for the heart to surpass the knowledge of its own end and of its loss, but loneliness, like all things burdened by the soul, diffuses at the sweet, uncanny song of love. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 223 [topic] => 21 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 15 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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