They Last Forever.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is not good to see
an old man
begging for fame.

or becoming a preacher
on some pulpit how to be
popular.

King Fu or Tu Fo
had only a jug of wine
a mountain as sole audience
a sky as blanket
and stars as inspiration.

i guess in their loneliness
fame had become so irrelevant.

a crown of laurel is
nothing but herbs.

the earth murmurs the pains
the poet hears them.

there is no fun in this game of
laments. If there is any it is but
a coping mechanism to catapult dreams
for another day.

one has a shadow for a companion
in this journey and talking to this
shadow is poetry.

they are dead. their graves no where
to be found. There are no children to carry
their names.
no wife to mourn for a while.
no government to own them.
no state to honor that demise.
no paper lasts forever. the pen breaks.
inks do not last. but they are memorable.

and i believe them
and they have to last forever.