All White, No Rock

it is the want that is giving me this

prison and so
to free myself i must not want this anymore

i wasted all my precious time to wanting this and that
which i never really got anyway

it is a sour grape
now i am sure about it

so i junked it and look at me i am now free at last

my chest is spacious
my hands are waving like leaves to the wind

feeling cool
relieved at last from all those unnecessary worries

the storms are gone
the sands are too peaceful like my mind

all white
no rock.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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