Are Our Sorrows More Potent Than Our Pleasures? Poem by RIC BASTASA

we are playing again
with our
yesterdays

we are like children
whose laughter
are flying to the
heavens

spills of the drops
of rain
mud in our cheeks
climbing those hills
lost in those tall
grasses
tumbling on the rocks
falling on those
rivers whose currents
take us to
lots of surprises

it confuses me why
the past looks more
enticing that the present

why those long dead
are more pleasing than
those we talk with

why are we touching the
bodies of the past?
why are they more
real?

those unfulfilled promises
keep on coming back
like close friends at
the guesthouse

are our sorrows more potent
than our pleasures? oh, these
empty moments
keep us in pleasurable pains
like this white kitten
clawing my mornings....