The Tree Is Old And Tall And Sees All Of The Plains.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

Friday is candid
and honest even without
any word used
to slap your face.

you wake up
to find finally that
Love is
no longer there and

that all those
kisses, and tight hugs,
all those
were but the flowering
of dreams

realities are driftwoods
for that moment
washed in the laps of
your wishes and
then as destiny works
slowly not to hurt you
much
takes them away from you
like dry leaves blown by
the winds of change
into another desert

wake up, wake up,
embrace this reality
that Love was not
really there

it was you
Insistent Being
in that state of
illusion and denial
and here you are

slapped but not
hurt anymore.

the tree is old and tall
and sees the whole of
the plains.