The nice, good feeling
Love like all knowledge
Is a remembering
It has its own wisdom
Its forebodings in
This individual, I,
I shall travel this
World, not on the pages
Of your book, to find
This place, in you,
That which I lack,
That which my being
Points always points
Towards you, till you
Are next to me, so near,
Filling me; this emptiness,
I am transfixed; transfigured
For my real self, this feeling,
It is nice to be here, at last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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