Holding To The Cool Taste Of Air Poem by RIC BASTASA

come understand
how we were made for
dead end streets

we are so different
we mourned for a while

until we understood the
meaning of dead ends

where we meet the blankness
of a wall
and we stare at it
until it is pierced

until we realize the
power of our concentrations

it is this life
of unfruitfullness

this having to feel
that everything ends
at all costs

where houses newly
built become wastes

where all dreams are
but stories

where eternity is
nothing but silent stars

hanging in there
while you open your mouth

holding to the cool
taste of air....