There is no sense following me
i am going to a place
i do not really know what and where it is
i have fears and so i talk to the grass
to pretend that i have someone to lean upon
some people mention about a resting place
there
but i cannot really imagine what rest is all about
i may have so much of this and that
here
and i cannot really relate well
what is that
somewhere
i like to say that i like it here but someone tells
that this is not the place meant to be
all fingers point there
and all thoughts think that it must be there
if i sit a little longer the eyes of my father stare at me
he says if i do that i will be his lifetime failure
those long dead give me dreams to walk and take the long journey
back home where they are preoccupied with waiting
i like it here my heart speaks trying to dominate this conversation
the mouth wants to inser what it has long wanted to say
and then you arrive and wait under a tree
you say you will follow me that you will always be nearer to me
i rise from the grass and then my feet take the faster pace
this time
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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