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Array
(
[sid] => 65584
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => a day with huntingtons
[time] => 2004-09-29 16:12:57
[hometext] => this is a poem i wrote for my class, it is about my father who has huntingtons disease, and the beauty in the small things people miss because of the constraints of thoughts.
[bodytext] => As he slowly walked through the city the elderly man looked around confused. He was as dwarfed by the buildings as a small moon in and endless galaxy. He was staring around searching for his family, his one sanctuary, from the confusion and chaos which surrounded him filling his head like sand taking over an hour glass waiting for him to snap. Glancing past skyscrapers and cabs He began to walk down the side of the street. Until he came upon a bench, the was paint peeling from the sides. The man noticed he was surrounded by pigeons They were scurrying in and out Surrounding him, like bees in a hive And he was their queen. He began to look at the bench closer. While looking at it he noticed something. He noticed how familiar and settling this bench to him. It was covered in scabs of chartreuse paint . He approached the bench slowly at first but not uneasy. He began to move a little quicker towards this seat that he had been examining. When he reached it he quietly mumbled: “Is this what I was looking for?” and took his seat Staring at the birds. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 183 [topic] => 43 [informant] => netweight23oz [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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