Illusions Of The Reality Of Grief....

there will be discontents
expected, not at all strange
but to be a casualty of such
lack, what misfortune
can that be,

be simple, take patience
on slow doses
what discontent is there
soon can be
cured

life can be nothing but a sigh
smoke your boring hours
let that white spirit rise
to the chimney and then to the skies

take a deep breathe
ponder, the journey soon shall be over
there will be meetings
of joys and bliss

then you leave all things behind
like the eddies of the dusts in the air
like the bubbles of soap
you think they were all big
ah, they're nothing....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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