No Exit

history teaches us
about the fears of having no exit

i believe it
that somehow there are no exits
but i work upon such premise

what i have now are simply
entrances

though i have no plans to stay
this long

yet i hold on to the assurances
of little permanences

everything passes away
i suppose

what the hell
where is the promised heaven?

i hold on to the grasp of my fingers
my only consolation

there is nobody here anyway
who says he had been there

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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