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Array
(
[sid] => 156632
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Sense from Above
[time] => 2010-01-10 19:30:44
[hometext] => My second poem ever shared with anyone
[bodytext] => Cloud shadows, spilt ink on a writer's page, spot the forever fields like the hides of the cattle that graze upon them. They move together, celestial guardians of the earth they protect. Weightless mountains of earthly dreams collected from below, rich with wisdom and enchanted with Thought. Offering moments of our precipitating selves. Contorting and shape shifting like playful chameleons of an unworldly form. Trailing whisps leave gentle scars across blue skin by these roaming creatures. Most find comfort with company, but some prefer to stray the playground alone. What sorrow that these lonely wanderers vanish the soonest. And even in cool darkness a kind reminder that the earth still lives, the moonlit tops and violet underbellies make their silent rounds. What noble watchmen. They endure like fading bruises that no longer pain. They live peacefully together in their world, that is in every respect, above our own. I envy their simplicity and their silence. They are uncapable of betrayal. Masters of their destinies, models to all creation. Birthed from below but inherit no mutations. Lost children born to cruel parents whom neglected them as soon as they were created. Orphans of our minds. Yet they are not bittered, nor do they resent. At first they cry in thundering claps until their world unveils new and delightful colours to heal their neglect. Then the heavens make sense and so they live in peace. So they watch over us in contemptuous sorrow and pity the faces below that look up sometimes with hopeful eyes. And then it rains, and we drink the drops. We savour their taste that remind us our truest selves. The earth will soak it in and feel a deep connect. When our prisoned souls are unchained- freed, even for a moment, and allowed to flutter joyfully like weightless children. We rejoice as sense and good shower our lives and cleanse our faults. And for a moment we too are perfect, until puddles of truth dry up once more. Then we return to our arid selves and roam the desert hills and look above with thirsty eyes.
[comments] => 1
[counter] => 180
[topic] => 21
[informant] => o_fellow
[notes] =>
[ihome] => 0
[alanguage] => english
[acomm] => 0
[haspoll] => 0
[pollID] => 0
[score] => 7
[ratings] => 2
[editpoem] => 1
[associated] =>
[topicname] => Lifepoems
)
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