Treasure Island

RIC S. BASTASA


11: 04 >>>>>>>>>>>>>


there is a coat
that covers a seed

it is thick
and dry and the seed is
safe inside it

the seasons are
inviting
one time, there is so much
rain

and it would have been a good time
to throw the seed and let
it grow

but you have decided not to

it is not the kind of seed that they know
by tradition

it did not come from their
own familiar farms established with
strict adherence to rules
and penalties

you keep the seed as a symbol of
your
eternal restraint

you are a good man
and they think of you and will always do
until you die

the seed is in your body
swallowed
like your pride in self-denial

because you will always be a good man
until they die.

Submitted: Thursday, March 28, 2013
Edited: Friday, March 29, 2013

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (11: 04 >>>>>>>>>>>>> by RIC S. BASTASA )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

New Poems

  1. Sorry I came but I must come, Victor Cruickshank
  2. Accepting You, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  3. No Survivors, Victor Cruickshank
  4. Accumulation Of Essence, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  5. When, Victor Cruickshank
  6. Growth and Change, Victor Cruickshank
  7. A Class to Remember, Victor Cruickshank
  8. Dedication, Victor Cruickshank
  9. On his greatness, Laxman Rao
  10. Frankenstein, Victor Cruickshank

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]