I Like To Think That All These Are But A Game Of Words Poem by RIC BASTASA

that is the impression from the beginning
when i started to scribble
word, and more words, i assured her that they do not
mean anything at all just
words, and words and more words

that even a sunflower wilting and spreading all the seed on her feet
are nothing too but words and more words
nothing to grow nothing to expect like a sprouting something

thus my loneliness, i again assure here, is nothing but a word
my way of taking solitude on the other side to save myself
is another word, and she of course, did not believe me saying

there is more to these words, there is fire in them and i see you burning
there is the sun inside them and the letters glow and the

there is smoke rising from the heads of vowels
from the nonspeaking consonants

i keep hiding the flowers
i bury those that are alive in the silence of my pretensions

until one day she grips me like she is a knife wanting to stab me
and then she stabbed me right in my throat and there i bleed

words, words, and more words coming from the slit
bloody words, and she was convinced, until death, ... and then i vanish.