it is when air feels like <br />glass <br />which looks like a mirage <br />which flows like <br />rivers <br />which branches like hands <br />which touch no one and have <br />become <br />walls which <br />negate itself and turn <br />into a <br />sky <br />which regret not having become <br />birds <br />which <br />hate wings and flights <br /> <br />it is so crowded like a forest <br />and beneath are worms <br />eating <br />rotten wood <br />which has become more of <br />a boat which <br />wishes that it were nothing <br />but an <br />ordinary human coffin <br />which shall be buried <br />under the grass which <br />without change shall rule <br />the earth<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-starting-line-2/
