In Trembling

i look at myself in the mirror
closer
i see my magnified hands trembling

the real reason was there
beforehand
but i keep on denying it and even bury it
like someone so vile

for long the reason knows too
the art of concealment
like the games that we play

then the trembling continues
and there are no reasons anymore
all the while
i never want any explanation of myself

i am here
and will be ready for all the possiblities
of death

and ready too
for the next redemption

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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