Red sun, black air, tiny lights of the city

Red glowing sun, fire, flames, hot spittles
To the tiny lights of the city, this city of sin,
Black air that we breathe, smoke rising from
Our hair, warmth from our armpits, sighs and
Quivers, the longings that never stop, and the
Rain that fall heavily today, our thirsts still
Thirsting, our hungers still hungry, our instincts
For destruction coming out from our throats and
Hands, we can do more than what Is expected

We break some twigs, we pluck some flowers
We never thought about the problem of how
To reconnect twigs and flowers and scents

God creates, and we are so hardheaded
Ours is always to destroy and then leave.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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