The Dying Too....
the bed takes only sleep
it has lessened its variety
before that
years ago
it was something else
it was more than its nature
a playground,
even a sea where boats sail
where seagulls nest
it was a spread of green cool grass
even clouds
it was even an island of paradise
with parakeets
and orchids and singing creeks
or squeaks
a bed ages
those who are in love, and remains to be so
keeps it
friendship starts to seed
flowers bloom, roots widespread
and the bed still becomes a home
of shed skin, white hair,
uncut fingernails
and missing words, and unspoken dreams
it's long partners, the ceiling and the fan
and the bulb that blinks sometimes
still vigil the whole night
time changes everything, it is sad,
the bed wears the blanket in white
dusts accumulate, pictures are removed
from the headboard
the bed also dies, and then waits again
sometime, for the weary, the hopeful
and the like all the rest, the dying too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
