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Array
(
[sid] => 90047
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Funeral Service
[time] => 2005-04-05 22:16:42
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Dozens of peddles float down on an amber sky. They shower the company below (All dressed in black.) As the last of summer floats off into a reproachful breeze. (These rose peddles lost their beauty when they started to bleed.) We all lost our beauty on the day we could no longer believe. The little girl in the corner with the strained blonde hair and freckles knows we're in trouble. But whenever she tried to tell us we shooed her away and told her she knew nothing of grief. And no one had the time for her child like rambling at the face of this misfortune. So no one ever heard what she had to say. We all would have been better off if we had listened to her that day. The spiders take the all of the corners of the attic, and the dust creeps over the boxes before your capable of seeing whats happened. Soon their are ghost footprints on the old floor as the dirt of the earth takes it too. And why should the dust not own it all. It is after all what shall soon become of us. We all throw flowers on the casket, durring this most unfortunate day. One of the hardest things a parent must face (Burrying their child.) A small girl, a victim of a sort of stress way beyond her years. We all have heard the story over and over and knew what became of the child (At least we were almost certain.) But of all of us...That little girl (Her sister) with the blonde hair and freckles is the only one who really knows what happened. (Unfortunately it will be much too late before we realise we should have listened to her.) [comments] => 0 [counter] => 141 [topic] => 13 [informant] => ForeverAndADay [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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