Life, senseless, short of meaning...
it is senseless,
that is true, you exclaim
life is senseless
you write it on the board
pure existentialist leaning
an afternoon
without tea
sunshine beneath a storm,
guitars behaving
as accordions but more of
the piano,
this is the house
and there is this door
you permanently close it and then you keep on going and going
to places where there are no more houses
no doors,
this is your heart
your home
this is your hand
your feet,
your eyes, some tears, some scars,
blood dripping
earth sipping
you like another cup of cold
coffee....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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