The Roads...

all road must lead to you,
(myriad options, pretty dilemmas)
days are thinking days, and the hours
are restless too, what the body can
do is always a question, what those
mouths are on the leaves
and bushes, i am
not persuaded, the roads are
illusions, and they put you there,
as though waiting...

days are thinking days and nights
are restless creatures,
i am,
a silent pond, looking at the mirror
without ripples,
i suspend time and go into
deep sleep testing if
i can meet you inside
the house of dreams

you are not there, and all along
i am right.

your arms are empty holes
in galaxies like ships always sailing
away.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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