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Array
(
[sid] => 81823
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The child incarnate (for autumn)
[time] => 2005-01-28 01:14:13
[hometext] => if you can't figure this one out (you should be able to^_^) write me^_^ I'll tell you. always, abraham
[bodytext] => Blank screens dying in my breath the window suddenly fighting the urge to merge into the left lane slowing drastically slowing my thoughts my deep end over the waters of my brain the blood that suits me best sitting in great green fields sitting in carcasses of dirt and planes sunk into the marshes of Georgia. This is the world the way it should be this is the love of my life the way it never could be the endlessness of ending films ending the same way over and over and over again and the pages of a book turn and i forget my sleep forever. (I begin to understand; the black depths of this screen stealing my reflection my reflection absurd and brilliant blue and broken bronze figures painting the last of the glass.) My throat burns my eyes itch, she said, I am consumed by love and love is a dead bird plunging from its flight. Love is the fragile strength of this cancerous child breathing new air. Her love is her smile that cannot compare; the bellowed frozen voice the silence that stirs her prayer; love is the bird that can never break free, she said, and it is the voice that can never be heard. I could not comprehend. I fought and disbelieved until her very end. But on days gone by, when her breath is the wind her rain my aftershave drinking coffee by her memory her ash and sea of light blond hair rising to be free from the pain and constancy of this world, I begin to understand. Walking over aumtumn's empty field; walking over green and yellow grass, her roses gone her laughter laughing past, I can see the birds that never break free, and I can sense the voice that will never be heard, and I am not consumed. I am laughing crying in an empty field a broken stone the shadow of a child lying all alone the sky so bright her fragile tone stronger than the shadows that I see. I can see her painting the clouds with her fingers. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 183 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
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