What We Write Sometimes Strike Us

after a day
i read what has been written

it shocks me sometimes to see
a different picture

bearing another interpretation
of these realities

it is like a tree bearing new surprises
of leaves and flowers

not on its proper season yet
June is usually the month of its fruits

there must be error for the month of May
something strikes me

things pop out, a word a phrase
losing their meanings

faded, and scratched
sometimes i ask, what is this?

this is not it, not me,
how come that it is here?

i drag it in a socket of the bone
to keep it

it protrudes as a fracture
a story with a plot of its own

a poem whose metaphor
anymore, i cannot decipher.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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