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Array
(
[sid] => 164953
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Child's Room: An Attempt at Activism
[time] => 2011-02-23 22:51:46
[hometext] => Please Read! This poem is meant to be of a political nature, and in sense a form of Activism in that it's in opposition to and about something. Hope you see it.
[bodytext] => In a child's bedroom somewhere in the world, There's a dark feel about, and a silence throughout. A darkened room, seemingly empty. Nothing moves, except for the gathering dust. Overhead the bed, there's a shelf with few books. Leaning at the side there's a little stuffed bear. His body in turn has become a tattered faded brown. Along his side, a few faded dark speckles. No eyes on its face, but just stitched X's instead. There's a brief open, and then close of a door. Someone came to check, on the room once more. I really want to make sure that you understand what it is I mean with this poem, so if you don't quite get it yet, please re-read it, for I want to try to explain what it is I meant here. I mostly just hope a person can get their own meaning from a poem, and appreciate what's given, but this was really important for me, and I intentionally made it subtle. I wanted this poem to be in the idea about children who are killed in war. The Iraq war currently kills many every day, over 100,000 have died that the government is willing to admit. The idea here is that a child who has died in Iraq, or anywhere at all, which is why I left a location out of the poem. It's unknown how many children have died directly from military action, but if so much as one percent have been children, that means 1,000 children have died in Iraq based on American officials' numbers and statistics, which is unacceptable. I also wanted it to be known that even some time after this child has died, the parent has let the room remain intact, and the child's belongings are still in the room. A few faded speckles lay on the side of the child's bear, dried blood from when the child died holding his or her favorite toy. The bear's eyes have fallen out at some point stitched close as X's when the child was too rough with the toy. The X's now serve to bear(pun not intended) as a reminder of the child's death, and last but not least the parent has checked the room, briefly for the moment of purging and catharsis the room offers. This is the only poem I've ever written that had brought to tears, and I hope you appreciate what it is I've tried to do here. [comments] => 7 [counter] => 410 [topic] => 21 [informant] => xHeathenx [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 9 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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