Meeting The Woman Who Never Believed In My Pursuits... Poem by RIC BASTASA

you were older
and i was the youngest.
i dwell in my silence
you always want a jam.
damning door. i keep
the pages of my books.
beneath a lonely light
inside the room.
i was disturbed but
i did not mind.
you were older and
mother never knew
that i was more responsible
not to tell tell the truth.
i live in the future
you abused what is there.
you hair have gone white
i keep the silence of my
flesh. My lips jammed.
a door did not open and
the room has become more
like me, abandoned, silent
and strong. soon, they
was joy in being alone.
i traveled alone by myself
to lands i have not known
its streets are without
names. Mixed Romanians.
The crowd of churches and
heavy rains, and dracula
and that old castle.
you have no remorse.
you had always been
older, brewed pride and
yesterday i drove my car
pass by you and i stopped
to pick you up from that
purposed misery.
i mumble to the mirror
what i clearly understand
but shall never say with
that desired clarity.
Silence is a domesticated
enemy and the fruits of
its endurance come late
to the dying floor.