G3
outside it is wet.
inside is acrid.
at the inner side of things
deserts make more deserts
sands slip beneath our feet,
outside the rain sings
lots of denials,
hands imploring for more
acceptance
arms looking for an embrace
and the universe
spins some more
the threads of its messy
indifference.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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