Tha Pains That Pile Up In Our Youth Poem by RIC BASTASA

When young
things are easy
we suppose

that words
are what the heart needs
if it loves
it can say so
easily

manifest what is
inside
and then ask
if it's okay

and then the pains
pile up like
firewood and in
that campfire
the firewood begins
to burn

what is left of course
is the ash
that looks at us direct
to eye

we have gotten old
and what we need most
is the silence

that pays vigil
about the feelings
long dead
inside our hearts