Untitled 25

morning wakes us up
with the gusts of the
winds from its
whispers,

loneliness creeps again
inside our bones
we quiver to this
we like to harvest reasons

the grains of wisdom are ripe
we take the chaff and
let them go

we are here with the purity
of what is left
and on the table now my love
we share
this grace.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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