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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=489555" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Poetry (again And Again)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">you talk about doors<br>where there are no windows</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you imagine things exist<br>when all they do is pass by</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you try to hold unto permanence<br>when there is none actually</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is not at all emotions<br>mind you, there is more to all of these</div><div style="margin:10px 0">not just words, flesh, perhaps i am just<br>entertaining the illusions of the flesh</div><div style="margin:10px 0">or light, or even the grass that live<br>on my head, as though i have</div><div style="margin:10px 0">hair, in this game, there is no fixed<br>directions, simply because </div><div style="margin:10px 0">in the first place, you do not really know<br>where to go, or what to do</div><div style="margin:10px 0">with your life, it is just sitting down, talking<br>to the conscience, playing with its</div><div style="margin:10px 0">thoughts, and questioning its rules, <br>there could be war, between you and </div><div style="margin:10px 0">another you, and they say, here comes<br>another schizophrenic trying to spell</div><div style="margin:10px 0">out the difference between a spill and<br>a pill, but there are images on the ceiling</div><div style="margin:10px 0">lizards laughing, and a light bulb that<br>gets steady with its own</div><div style="margin:10px 0">dim light, you imagine chairs as people<br>and the walls as curtains, and you</div><div style="margin:10px 0">as the clown, or the magician trying to<br>do a trick, to please time, to stop hurting</div><div style="margin:10px 0">other people, to love this self, that <br>lays like a carpet on the floor, there is</div><div style="margin:10px 0">warmth, there is a flow of sentences, and<br>cut flowers, and a glass of cold water, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">chunks of iced feelings, and sweet<br>sour fishy tales, and here comes another</div><div style="margin:10px 0">fool trying to figure out, what are these lines, <br>maps, or pathways, or eddies of air, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">or jars without wine, mugs without coffee, <br>words without meanings, just that.</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=489555" data-title="In Poetry (again And Again) de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="you talk about doors
where there are no windows

you imagine things exist
when all they do is pass by

you try to hold unto permanence
when there is none actually

it is not at all emotions
mind you, there is more to all of these

not just words, ..."></div>
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