An Expectation Poem by RIC BASTASA

what do i expect of myself? I,
who is, only a repetition, a body
who goes on everyday, same direction,
same going and coming, house, office,
Sundays on same beach, same
paths i walk everyday,
where adventure is shut up
like a door of a hotel that you
do not like to visit again,
what can i expect of a bullfrog
in a world of a small pond, saying
the same sound both for the rain
and sunshine, content with what is
here and not looking over there,
i, am, a fool resigned, away from
the academe and church and
halls, now, hiding in that garden
of silence, still looking for seeds.