They Ask Me
they ask me, as they have finally arrived from this long journey
they are resting and sipping tea
their feet on a stool
their fingers with cigarette in between
smoke like memories began to rise on the ceiling
the wood and the walls start to remember
there is this laughter of the intellect
there is this humiliation of base desires
they all meet here but it will not be long
their world is not us and they keep on asking
where are the good men? why have evil triumphed for that long?
they look at me again
quizzical and now seemingly angry: where are the good men?
where did the good seeds go? why do you have all the healthy weeds
in your garden?
i ask them, if they still need more tea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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