The Light That He Was Talking About

IT takes me months
to realize that
it was him who saw the
light,

HE stayed inside
the cubicles of his wisdom
I strayed
from the doors of my
prison
I chose to become a blue
butterfly
fluttering my blue wings
in the garden
of love (and lust as he sees
it)
I have chosen
a short span,
this perceived quality
of a life
well lived
in the beauty of my errors,
my truths,
my altruistic feeling that i have done
what i must do

They that command me
have found
the uselessness of their
mandatory lists
of what not
what ifs
what musts.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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