Goodbye To The Old, Good, Clean Days

to live, one must say goodbye
to the good old days

white shiny porcelain days
no rug and hands can ever

hold them for like the wind
they shall go and what is left

shall be your days of weariness
and dust

settles on your palms and on
your forehead

the sweat of the coming days
living a life of the anonymous

wanting to be free from the
prison cell one makes for oneself

pains self-inflicted and the game
of solitaire begins anew

the trucks that pass on the road
all huge and the same

over and over again
one spits and goes back with

his cards. Fate rules.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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