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In The Process Of Repression

in the process of
repression
or suppression
of feelings

there is no
difference
the body
gets sick
in the end

the eyes
choose to sleep
in the wrong ours
to diminish
the pain
to look for dreams
as cure

the hands tremble
at the end
how they have
always wanted
to keep in
touch to touch
and be touched
and perspire
and cool
and be warm
and loving

the body gets
crazy the desire
is simply
irresistible
and then the
world turns
topsy-turvy
like a bat
of the night

it relies on sound
not on sight
goes out
of the dark night
now wanting
to sip blood
instead of
the cooling waters
of love

do not blame
me or anybody
they too have
this and that
they too are
sick and dying

broken hearts
and shattered minds
loss of splendor
of soft grasses
flower petals
that wilt and never
for once
ever bloom

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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