Weary Hands Weary Feet

you long for something intact
like a cover of a jar
sealed and where air is
trapped with
the cookies,

something sweet to see
the tongue salivates upon
of dream inside
a glass

you wish upon something definite
the mere yes or no
nothing about a sophistication
a labyrinthine
scheme into a escape into
somewhere

what you have however in your hand
is a pool of thread
a circuitous distance concentrated
within

when you spread it it rolls
and you leave it there
gaping into
somewhere

and then
losing hope to find
what is at the
end

you walk away
just that

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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