Distances....

this distance shall seal
the fate of those bridges
the empty space
are cut arms
the chasms between our
thoughts
are sliced feet
there are no more nails
to scratch what pleasures
are there
in this all broken
arrangement

the words fall from the trees
like poisoned leaves
as i walk away like a thief
you shall have the last
laugh

when you are dead and there
shall be peace
i shall come back
not to bury you with all
the requisites of
religious dignity
i am coming with my vultures
and they shall have a feast
on your rotten
belly.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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