At The River Bank

the waters rise
and all my steps are taken
back to the
sands
of the river
in this place where you live
decently

when you come too early
you will see
what steps have i taken
and where i have been going

at noon when the children play
everything is mixed up
and you shall ask
what is the matter

the children when they are gone
leave you marks
and you do not understand

at the river banks of our youth
finally
all the steps when we get old
turn
into forgotten stories

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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