In Our Nakedness... Poem by RIC BASTASA

when you begin to write something
true and real
you cannot escape that little fear
that somehow
you have opened yourself unnecessarily
to an indifferent world
an unbelieving pack of wolves
ready to eat you when you are caught
unaware to the horrors of reality

it is as if the world has no time
to listen to your woes, your having
loved and hated, eaten and vomited

your guitar has gathered dusted
not a hand had strummed it for years


it is as if you have no other means to live
but to strip on this stage in front of a
lusting audience
as piece by piece you detach each part of
you baring the last inch
and there you are naked and helpless to all
their stares

somehow you do not mind at all at the end
of this stripping show
you assure yourself that you have so much
beauty to share and if there is that
ugliness, and on such equality you argue,
they all have it anyway

and as you go back to your seclusion you
keep chanting: we are all the same, we are
all the same, we are all the same and
you belong to them and they belong to you
to the exactness that the Creator has
designed it to be.