Array
(
[sid] => 183989
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => throw up your hands
[time] => 2017-03-10 18:00:55
[hometext] => Our life is full of empty space.~Umberto Eco
[bodytext] => soaked clothes
in tears
her eyes first
the day born
locked in
my leaking
creeping up to
mouth their
sorrow ghost
crowded heads
these hands
can/'/t find
empty mourning
midwest train
river rises
seeping more wet
flooded with goodbyes
a hall forever
empty windowsill
current-less home
asleep of bones
blanket of night
caked in dirt
relentless.
[comments] => 3
[counter] => 122
[topic] => 73
[informant] => ming
[notes] =>
[ihome] => 0
[alanguage] => english
[acomm] => 0
[haspoll] => 0
[pollID] => 0
[score] => 0
[ratings] => 0
[editpoem] => 1
[associated] =>
[topicname] => abstract
)
If you wish to use any poem for any purpose, please either EMAIL Mick from the sites feedback form, or go to the AUTHOR'S site and EMAIL the author for permission. If you Email Mick for permission on any poem that is not his personal works, he will endeavor to contact the author on your behalf. This poem comes from Your Poetry Dot Com https://www.your-poetry.com/ The URL for this poem is: https://www.your-poetry.com/route.php?page=poetry/PoemDetail&story_id=183989 |