It Is In The Blood

some people write
saying it runs in the family
it is inside the code
of its blood
corpuscles
it's the gene that makes
the hand write

my papa is a farmer and my
mama is a schoolteacher

no one in the family writes
what i hear is always a chatter
a murmur
a burst of emotions
broken plates
and broken doors

what i hear is always an
explosion
of light bulbs

the doors knew nothing
but slams
and the TV is loud with
horror

i have learned the secret
of silence
and since then
i have decided to write

i write for no one
i am attuned to having no one

this is for myself
and when i am no longer here

someone may read it
and say
This is myself too
and it is me that matters

alone, for i do not expect much
from ears neither from mouths
even from

the hearts.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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