The House Of My Neighbor
no one lives there anymore
all left for good
there is so much fuss about
almost anything, a mess
of who must own it finally,
at night, a man with a striped
red and blue shirt climbs the fence
and enters the room
without breaking the glass window
the moon wants to scream
but it is ruled by its code of silence
there is tinkering bell
and tonight someone touches it
shakes it
to make a noise
the moon wants to scream again
but this time the black clouds come and
with their hands
the moon is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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