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Array
(
[sid] => 4387
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => THE PRODIGAL!
[time] => 2002-09-28 11:00:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I haven’t touched a parchment.
My inkwell dried long ago. The time rolled by like currents, Flooded by my aching hearts’ tears. Words that flew like pages in a tornado, And crowded my brains’ every waking moment, Ceasing to let me find a moments peace, Until recorded for posterity just to be replaced by more, And more, and more, until my hands would grasp My head and I would almost scream, “Why won’t they stop and let me have peace, Just for a day or an hour?” Then the torture stopped just as quickly as it had begun. Without warning, my mind was void of anything, Save pain and grief, giving way eventually To deep dark depression and comfort in a bottle. Were words a better demon than the pit I had fallen into? I dare say yes, for at least with words, I was In control of my own faculties, as compared To intoxication of substance better left untried by any man. Behind every cloud is a silver lining I have heard it said. But that is just so much flies off the piles of manure in a pig pen. Behind every cloud is the sky, and it is a mental and emotional Decision how we choose to view it. Even above rainstorms is a clear blue or a starlit sky. Should we drown in the rain of our own making, Through tears and sorrow or shoot for the stars? How would we even begin to do that on our own? This one thing though I am sure of ! One day I shall visit them. And therein lies my hope! [comments] => 1 [counter] => 147 [topic] => 19 [informant] => Robert_Edgar_Burns [notes] => [ihome] => 1 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => InspirationalPoems )
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