In My Own Chosen Solitude....

in my solitude i take the walk back to the woods

i go deeper under the trees and it is a world of wanton schemes

i discharge every crowd that resides in my head

i welcome dead leaves falling from the trees that seem to have hands

reaching the dark skies.

i am unloading and i do not stop until i am empty.

each step draws an idea which i fish from the water.

i see what disturbance is. I feel the chaos that wants to escape from

the barks of the trees, from the scales of each fish.

the solitude too struggles like a mouse caught in a trap.

it has learned the trick of calmness, of being steady, of

being still, in its own chosen silence.

the walk has finally taken me like a trap, and i cannot stop anymore.

there, ideas are born. flowers grow. animals talk,

there, dusts have grown the white wings of the doves,

there, man escapes from a hole, stands tall, and finally walks away.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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