Morning, Noon And Nightime....

it was early morning
when what i am is merely hearing voices

and all i can do is look at those faces
and sometimes make a stare

at noon, i have learned many things
and i begin to speak their language

adopt their way at looking at this world
and attempt many times to understand each part

i've read on the papers that evening
about a woman who jumped to the sea and was never found

there is the shiver that goes to the bottom of my marrow
i check my bones

some people have become periods of the long paragraph
i judge them sometimes and put those flowers of sympathy

i do not sleep till dawn
my hands are resting on my forehead

my eyes are painting the ceiling
and my feet are buried on the ground

such is the case of some complaisance
as morning arrives again singing its blue marks

upon its cheeks are tattoos
which i have mistaken as scars

there are always other matters
i sleep with them now.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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