My Realistic Sister
when she speaks
there will always be truth to it.
she told you
it wouldn't work
and it did not really work.
see? she is Cassandra.
see? the rails are cut off now
the train stops.
she speaks from the past lives she had.
once she was Cleopatra, she knew any Julius Caesar.
now she is telling me the same thing.
i am afraid, this thing too that i have in my palm
will not work. I am crushing it, but i still doubt it.
i wish it were a bird with strong bones.
i wish it were a fish, with slimy scales
i dream it may escape the way i want it inside that dream.
but my sister was the Cassandra.
her statements become true, and i have fear now
about this black bird in my palm
it is alive.
tomorrow, i ask myself, if i too shall learn
the art of
killing. I guess, she must be right.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
