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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=485325" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Aching Eyes And Neck Pains</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">aching eyes and <br>back and neck pains, they do not really matter<br>once i face this monitor</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i assume i have many things to say<br>after a day's work. I TAKE pride about the<br>matters unsaid. I take note of the words<br>kept hidden inside my hair.They want<br>to jump and assume the shape of some<br>fleas.BITERS. bitter biters, for they were made<br>to be silent as we keep on doing <br>our own bread and butter thing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">my eyes are aching. I feel the pain on my neck.<br>there is this burden, and this burden is the burden<br>of a writer, a poet, and it keeps on saying</div><div style="margin:10px 0">write me, write me now: about a girl whose <br>father betrayed her, about a man whose fortune<br>is stolen in the blink of an eye</div><div style="margin:10px 0">he died.she was thrown in the river<br>and the fish ate her in tiny pieces.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">there is this little boy who imitated my actions<br>and he was laughing and i was laughing too, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">i never thought that my hands are as clumsy as his<br>or his words too disappointing </div><div style="margin:10px 0">the world is telling me: it is enough<br>too much of you is already suffocating</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is telling me that i must quit<br>but how can i? there is this little boy that keeps<br>on taunting me</div><div style="margin:10px 0">to play again along the sands of the shore<br>and make my new sandcastles</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is not too dark yet, and he says it is still time<br>there is still time to play....</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i get out of the car. It is raining. I look at the sky.<br>Drink some rain. I get wet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is not enough. It is never enough. There is still this little boy<br>in me. His eyes are always in wonder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and so the poems keep on coming.<br>I close the car. I look at the trees. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How green are these trees! Greener than green.<br>How blue are the clouds! Bluer than blue. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And i really like all that i see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This little child in me. Giggling.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=485325" data-title="Aching Eyes And Neck Pains de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="aching eyes and 
back and neck pains, they do not really matter
once i face this monitor

i assume i have many things to say
after a day's work. I TAKE pride about the
matters unsaid. I take note of the words
kept hidden inside my hair.They want
t..."></div>
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