Miserere...

they look at us
as another misery,
not knowing that we know
beforehand what
misery was
its color and
feel, in fact, we had so much
familiarity with it
that we already know how to
pretend that we
do not know it,
its face
is everyone,
its journey
all ours to make

and so i do not speak
neither do i listen

for in truth i have known much
about it
and the talking never solved it
neither is the confession
it is still there

the point then is simple
it is part of all these structures
the stars are not impressed
and the moon
as usual
does not mind....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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