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Array
(
[sid] => 35854
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Save
[time] => 2004-02-22 04:28:32
[hometext] => The question with no answer. Not meant to be artsy.
[bodytext] => An old man and a eight-year old sat upon the benches The eight-year old in second grade, the elder from the trenches: "Young child, you know, the world spins On timing and decisions Instead of burning all the way One flares with bright precision. Everything is governed by its opportunities And those who wait for perfect times are those who gain the edge Instead of swinging all your strength in importunity Just slow your gait, yet don't abate, while fools vault off the ledge Save your dimes for when you're broke Save your dreams for when you wake Keep your mirth for when you joke And scrimp your candles for your cake. Store your strength for when you're weak Hoard the joy for when you're down Stash your loathe for when you need it Retain your fat for when you drown Save your mind for when you're thinking Save your eyes between the blinking Hold your words for when you're calm Stay your voice for singings psalms Cache you hope for dire fate Save forgiveness for when you hate Keep the heart for when you've bled Save your soul until you're dead." The child smiled eagerly, a question in his eyes They left his lips into the air, inquistively blithe "This all I can try to do, yet I don't understand How do you save something you don't have?" ~Eternity's Lyre (Who thinks he will write an artsy poem next time) [comments] => 7 [counter] => 280 [topic] => 64 [informant] => EternitysLyre [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous )
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