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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=494370" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Grass, Not The Bench</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=494370" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It is not the Bench<br>that gives me that feeling that i have touched<br>the face of the sky<br>grope my hands upon a bunch of stars<br>or slide my doubting finger<br>to a fresh wound<br>of resurrection<br>I sit there All Day<br>and finds nothing that redeems me<br>From Oblivion</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=494370" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It is the grass and the ground<br> that it has<br>covered for years<br>faithfully that have given me<br>the essential strength of my bones<br>the tingling feeling<br>on my heel</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=494370" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">the feeling is more than that<br>i am surrounded by silent stars<br>cumulus clouds<br>feather winds<br>filled with foams</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a></strong></div>

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