I Never Had Time To Explain Myself

there were stones thrown
on the water and so there were ripples
like the pain

the pain goes on and on
like circles spreading beyond a certain point

of my tolerance
my tongue forms some words like hammers

to hit the nails right on their faces
to break the monotony of destruction

without rivets no dovetails but
the story has become like a code of the samurai

to you, and you swing your head like arms
in disbelief how can all these be true he is not like this

and you become like a bone in my throat and i like
to remove every obstruction one by one

but i do not have the pleasure of keeping you
my hands inside my pocket are mine alone

the pebble inside it is warm and smooth
my treasure and like my conscience i keep it

inside my heart. I keep seeing ripples and then
i do not mind how many stones how far they spread.

i owe no one and no one owes me
i am an island and i wish there are no boats docked on my shore

any time, somewhere, any more.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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