Here We Are Again

YOU ARE right
There are reasons why we write
Daily, we are looking for a cure to this disease
Not what you think,
It is what we think,
For how can you go inside our minds
Our houses are closed
Our gates high and locked
We want to go outside and commune with the trees
We cannot
That is the irony
The paradox
We desire to be Free
Yet we live inside these Caves
So many caves
Vast darkness where we speak without seeing our Faces
This is horrible
But what reaches you are
Too beautiful to believe
Too good to be True
What you call as Truths
We dismiss as Lies
There are twists and turns
Labyrinths inside a very small house
Where ants are keepers
and Confidantes
We keep a treasure here
Chests and Trunks full of money and gold
Nope
Don't get me wrong
We are not right
We mumble like hungry slaves in the desert
We are those broken bones
That you find

So beautiful.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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