it is the same over and over again, <br />no change, nothing unfamiliar, <br />the terrains we master, <br />the confrontations too boring, <br />all words, no images, nothing about <br />metaphors, trains and rails, sky and grass, <br />winds coming, and eddies leaving, <br />air filled with dust, leaves blown away, <br />women with straw hats, <br />hands of children, whistles of husbands, <br />what more can this world give us? <br /> <br />perhaps, a global erasure. <br />when we all perish, when no one blames <br />anybody anymore <br />when cockroaches begin their rule.<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/routine-27/
