It Can Simply Be A Play Of Words....

you may think it as nothing
but a play of words, dismiss the nobility of an idea
with a purpose,

to heal for instance, or to dignify what is at first
impressing upon a mundane, like an insignificant scrap

of paper, there are second thoughts, or on the other
hands, something stupid but actually deep and hounding

full of substance, not just flesh but kindred spirit,
something that you have not met before but for a time

when you are finally alone, and learning well from sorrow,
you say, eurika, eurika, this is it, and it has changed you

to a better person, the play of words, turns into a tragedy
play, and you are asphyxiated, grasping for breath because

there is too much, in one glance, in that moment, a profusion
spasmodic wisdom, reaching your hands, saving you from

a catastrophe, how can you share it? it cannot be as it is
too personal, and it is so near to you that you cannot see

it and tell others about it, it goes to your mouth, settles in
that cozy room of your heart, and you become one, whole again,

like a baby once and back to its fetal position, walled with
a sac, swimming in amniotic fluid, connected to mother's womb.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!