The Light That He Was Talking About
IT takes me months
to realize that
it was him who saw the
light,
HE stayed inside
the cubicles of his wisdom
I strayed
from the doors of my
prison
I chose to become a blue
butterfly
fluttering my blue wings
in the garden
of love (and lust as he sees
it)
I have chosen
a short span,
this perceived quality
of a life
well lived
in the beauty of my errors,
my truths,
my altruistic feeling that i have done
what i must do
They that command me
have found
the uselessness of their
mandatory lists
of what not
what ifs
what musts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
