The House That Does Not Speak About Anything...
how time swiftly flies without wings of birds
i wake up at dawn lacking sleep
into writing, into deeper thoughts on soundless hours
and how fast, how fast has morning arrived
i am innocent
how stupid can i be
inventing hope and trying to modify the shape of my days
the lights of the door and the kitchen are not turned off
the neighbors are worried
i am home but i am not opening the windows and the door
i am into writing, into the deeper thoughts of my soundless hours
let the neighbors think that i am on vacation again
for weeks
i am into a waking slumber gathering dreams, ripe fruits of sleep
of the waking and sleeping again and again
i love a house that doesn't speak about anything that cannot
remember anybody
the dark loves me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.