when you become <br />storm #1 <br />i remain as a simple <br />cottage <br />at the foot of the hill <br /> <br />i draw my own <br />blue butterflies <br />fluttering <br />on the purple <br />bushes <br />of my garden <br /> <br />when you become the <br />darkness of <br />my night <br />i invent a hundred <br />fireflies <br />on that tall tree <br />in my mind <br /> <br />i tell you <br />i am wise and numb <br />and has become <br />too creative <br /> <br />because of you <br /> <br />i can be anything now <br />and you have become <br />nothing to me <br /> <br />when i take a glimpse of <br />what you are doing <br />you become a black fish <br />on the bowl <br /> <br />if i want to <br />i could have pushed that bowl <br />on the edge of the table <br /> <br />and you should have been <br />a minute part <br />of that <br />tragedy.<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-i-become-wise-and-numb/
