The Shape Of Solitude With The Red Ants
it is easy to become
a cloud
a mist and then even be
part of the dust
it is the shape of solitude
assuming the bursting of some past joys
it is this feeling of leaves falling
from a dead tree
silently reaching the dry ground
where the red ants are waiting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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