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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=493724" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Abandoned House And The Man Who Drags His Shoes To Make The Necessary Sound</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">when you arrive in the house<br>(the house that both of you built 17 years ago) <br>no one is there<br>not even the three white dogs</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you have accepted this face of loneliness<br>without a mouth</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is its nature now<br>gentle in silence</div><div style="margin:10px 0">there is nothing to talk about with someone else<br>when someone else is far away and seemingly taking all the hearts out</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the door and the hinges have to keep things for themselves<br>for in truth, those who left the stairs<br> they still love</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you have the key to the door of the kitchen<br>and that is where you start the journey towards the living room</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you scurry on some little memories <br>it is like putting some words in your notes <br>in here and there beyond the margins</div><div style="margin:10px 0">but it is not that endless really<br>for whatever it be <br> joy or death there's got to be an end<br>that is the truth of the meaning of <br>this word</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it could be a dead-end <br>a street of walls<br>& then actually you are caught <br>in flagrante<br>where your only choice<br>is to go back, <br> retrace, <br> remember, <br>refresh<br>refrains, refrains<br>of a <br>love song</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you go back to the room look longingly at the bed <br>the blankets are dusty and the pillows are stained with so much emptiness<br>or guilt<br>scruples<br>Freudian analysis<br>Carl Jung's other possibilities<br>of reconciliation</div><div style="margin:10px 0">this is a very soundless world and<br> every part here is keeping its mouth shut<br>their layers of concealment are thick<br> and their canopies of<br>self-defenses are hard</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you feel like this is one kind of a giant shell <br>and you are inside it<br>its flesh<br>all blistering <br>flesh</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you decide to wear your shoes all throughout this scrutiny<br>this journey into marriage <br>into childlessness<br>into what if's</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you drag your feet with your shoes on<br> as though someone is suffering and wanting to die<br>and you hold the collar<br>and you hurt the backbone<br>and in that open window <br>you imagine that someone may finally <br>jump like a scared cat</div><div style="margin:10px 0">nine lives <br>thirty-six softest feet</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you purposely make a sound with your shoes<br>tapping and tapping<br>and tapping<br> to create those sounds<br>of the past dances<br>just to fill an empty room</div><div style="margin:10px 0">some thoughts jump out of the window<br>dressed in euphemisms<br>as the ceiling creates its own crankiness<br> its cloudiness</div><div style="margin:10px 0">nine cats in you jump out that window<br>falling softly on the grass below<br>all thirty-six <br>dreams</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is nice to see of course<br>nine unharmed cats like fluffy cotton blown by the wind and gently<br>softly land on the grass</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is no wonder <br>why men sometimes invoke the sound of their whistling</div><div style="margin:10px 0">indeed it is by this time <br>very relaxing</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=493724" data-title="The Abandoned House And The Man Who Drags His Shoes To Make The Necessary Sound de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="when you arrive in the house
(the house that both of you built 17 years ago) 
no one is there
not even the three white dogs

you have accepted this face of loneliness
without a mouth

it is its nature now
gentle in silence

there is nothing to tal..."></div>
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