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Array
(
[sid] => 65282
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Aura, Aura, Aurora
[time] => 2004-09-26 22:04:54
[hometext] => From my collection Emeralds Are My Days
[bodytext] => A long-forgotten saint offers A toast to its own ghost And spills wine on its vibrant robe We began wandering the waking wilderness Our path was worn well in humid pastures As we sleepwalked through the abyss Until frequenting a diety of our own We do not covet a crown "Wring out the heathen from the Decorative towell!" The saint will drunkenly shout Stains will set on lower ground When we turned our backs Did He look away? Did Chaos birth Night To lessen the power of Day? [comments] => 3 [counter] => 173 [topic] => 49 [informant] => Lee [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => mystical )
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