A Ritual Of The Day To The Night

afraid of being converted into a pig
i do not sleep when i am done
and full

i sit and watch the stars flicker
the moon floats on the river and stays full at rest on the side of the mountain
i listen to the fox
i gaze at the bird resting upon a twig on a tree beside the house of my parents

and when i am hungry and thirsty again
upon an empty mind i go to bed and ponder
between this dreamland and this harsh reality
the words come into play
and begin to reconcile

and then i fall into a deep sleep
erasing all that the day has written so
ineptly

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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