Staring At The Monitor Poem by RIC BASTASA

i know i am not alone
experiencing this kind of stare
at the monitor when you think you cannot write
not because there is nothing to write anymore but because
you will not to.

of course you regret such kind of decision
that negates what you are what you do what hardheaded man
are you,

you begin again not thinking what thoughts are shaped of
there is no form that convinces you
everything is fluid like air shaping itself upon every
emptiness of
its container

what makes this void that takes a shape inside our brains?
what keeps us busy thinking about nothing
what makes us so passive
like empty balloons taking the shape of air pushed from the
mouth of our beholder?

ah, you may say
you are beholden to no one
it is the same thing that i keep on saying to myself
we like to think that all are smooth that at the end paradise reigns
again
that we are welcome
that no one shall be punished and forsaken
but i have seen the death of one
there inside his locked room
three days
gunned
foul
his body rotten
the guide was the group of flies
telling

here is the one
who thought there are no rules
even in love

here is he
he is dead and those who are alive
has something again to think about
the void that fills the spaces
of our pores
our hearts hungry again for instruction
our bodies
waiting for the next line