10 - Poem by RIC S. BASTASA

what i am
time erases from time to time
what i write
the letters fade and what
comes back to my mind
is the blankness
of the wall

i have no complain about
the ways of this
in fact
that is the way how i want
myself to be

fresh to the waking up
of all hours
new to every eyes
horizons stretching
without end
roads flying roads
birds with four
to eight wings

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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 30, 2010

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