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Array
(
[sid] => 37282
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Life as a Canvas
[time] => 2004-03-04 02:21:10
[hometext] => what a ride on "the dark horse" will bring out....
[bodytext] => The world has been a specimen for all my life’s years. The joys and sorrows, tragedies victories and the tears. I have been a witness, a voyeur of life’s milestones, while knowing I am distinctive never laying bare my bones. And contemplating why while I look up to the sky, *feeling* the textures in my eyes smelling the flowers is not enough. Feeling them and looking past is what others see as a task. To tell others what I see is that what I am to be? Am I here to do this what if I should miss? The very thing I am here to tell one day when my eyes are blind, by clouds who always haunt that grimly fly and taunt. The questions on my lips feelings through my fingertips Have been there in my mind my earliest memories I can find. Why my God, why? To conform, I did try, my friends are not of me of them I am not to be. To find ones self today when all the years I have played, is frightening in one word and joyous, it sounds absurd. What is me? Where is me? The Lord has been tried sin has not been denied, growth a simple answer. And the pain has been a cancer. To be true to others is the easy road Truth to ones-self is difficult to sow The list of questions left unanswered is getting smaller as I travel, but I have made my self -built walls these are the things that will make me fall. As a poet I must tell of me and I must tell of thee. The truth is sometimes hard must not be missed, unbarred. Each and every piece of life is added to my canvas, a canvas that is on display for the world to look at and outlay. I look at you in your eyes and I lie if I deny, that I look at your soul through those open doors, and the questions that I troll lead me to your secrets that layed in your heart for years that hide bitter and buried so deep you never, ever wanting to keep. But shock this poet knows that the darkness you make holds a treasure trove, deep in this murk of lies That is you, and I. Is that what scares you, my gift of seeing through the darkness to the secret you? Be not worried it is but us that my journey is you and thus I see them as strength and treasure those parts you hide, they make your measure! You, a rich and noble friend from your soul the riches I have lifted, and each and every person is gifted by their canvas that they keep unknowing and hidden deep, I have placed my small mark on, And happily do belong to my reader, my listener, my friend, I am with you to your end. Me, the poet reluctant whose life is there although grim At its end you will read and grin. [comments] => 5 [counter] => 255 [topic] => 60 [informant] => twinkletoes [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 20 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => insomniac )
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