The Alien... Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is never the desire
of him
who writes so well to become another poet in the halls of fame,
no, not, and far from it,
all that he did was merely to unload
what was in his mind
on those dark nights
when he felt terribly

either sad, or horrified or lonely,
it is only sometimes when
he felt bliss
or those tiny pieces of happy
minutes that
comfort his mind
that eases his heart
on this long and lonely journey
toward a faraway place
which he thinks he must have been
but he cannot anymore remember
except that feeling
of

missing, that longing that no word has ever filled
that nostalgia that never disappears
while waiting
while standing by
on a train station that takes him back
to a rented room

while sitting on a chair as everything flashes
on him
like lightning
when he sees only shadows of trees
and rooftops

and then the heavy rain
compels him to close the window
though
this time
brave as he is on his own
there are no
more tears...