Guts

that we are one into this
pits of lonely wits
beside each other
or on top of one another
on this narrow hole
one understands fully why
others scream and lose their
minds and if lucky enough
recover and regain the poise
of a sane island,
this continent of void is
vast, and it is not vague
years in embrace of our
weaker dispositions
have taught us
there is nothing strange
there is nothing that is unacceptable
we master the pain
as the saying goes
to know what real happiness means
i guess i must have said
much and more
but much and more can never
be much and more
unless one opens his heart
and have it cut and sliced again
as a matter of sprouting
love, endearments, bliss
seeds that grow too well
because the ground is made up
of rotten expectations
the carcasses of ambitions
the humus of hope.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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