X1

the conversation last night
was the beginning of our own claim
that after all
our words do not really speak
for ourselves,

that what we are, shall,
remain unannounced,
we keep it, like an opinion,
we have diaries, with black
hard covers, that every night
we open and
make some more
Notes,

there are surprises within
without, there are only the boredom
of routines

i am not responsible for
what you believe,
i am only, a limited territory
for what i am.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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