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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=488710" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Home Again To The Arms Of Despair</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">the waves are bigger in the middle of the ocean of my dreams<br>i sit on the sandy shore waiting<br>here is distance unfolding<br>coming and leaving at the same time<br>the hands are powerless in this<br>no amount of concerns connects us <br>once again<br>even if i surrender to the grips of the night<br>even if the moon swears<br>to shine till dawn breaks</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you come like a shadow of an afternoon Sunday<br>broad and firm and strong as you claim yourself<br>in a name carved in stone<br>you're marvelous like a comet at noonday</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is late and i am weak<br>my knees are bent to the ground of worthlessness</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you run to the sea and plunge yourself<br>you wave your hand before that<br>dissolution or that diffusion into the forgetting</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i am looking at the horizon<br>it is as straight as life wants itself to be<br>who wants to break the silence of a line falling<br>out of a page? the smoothness of an edge<br>finally denying an importance</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and then the sunset completes itself<br>with your silence<br>in that single splash<br>as you gasp for the last single breath<br>of hope<br>there is no stranger coming as <br>a survival<br>there is no new born child to revive<br>despair</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i think it is horrible but on the other hand<br>it is divine<br>i remember that stair into heaven<br>rosary beads they imagine<br>hurled by our Mother</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i cannot remember how that Sunday ends<br>i will again say it ends with the splash and then the edifying silence<br>the rising of the clouds<br>the resurrection of the dimming light<br>in the middle of grief<br>when handkerchief begins to show a face<br>of thorns</div><div style="margin:10px 0">let me stop and think awhile, a moment of silence<br>please, drink this cup of silence with me<br>this blood of wine</div><div style="margin:10px 0">how can i tell you that there is this deleted version of the story<br>in trembling i arrive home and then i scream<br>that was at first<br>and i realize the windows are closed like a man without ears<br>there is no use for doors and doorsteps <br>the stairs have long been broken</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=488710" data-title="Home Again To The Arms Of Despair de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="the waves are bigger in the middle of the ocean of my dreams
i sit on the sandy shore waiting
here is distance unfolding
coming and leaving at the same time
the hands are powerless in this
no amount of concerns connects us 
once again
even if i su..."></div>
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