IT takes me months <br />to realize that <br />it was him who saw the <br />light, <br /> <br />HE stayed inside <br />the cubicles of his wisdom <br />I strayed <br />from the doors of my <br />prison <br />I chose to become a blue <br />butterfly <br />fluttering my blue wings <br />in the garden <br />of love (and lust as he sees <br />it) <br />I have chosen <br />a short span, <br />this perceived quality <br />of a life <br />well lived <br />in the beauty of my errors, <br />my truths, <br />my altruistic feeling that i have done <br />what i must do <br /> <br />They that command me <br />have found <br />the uselessness of their <br />mandatory lists <br />of what not <br />what ifs <br />what musts.<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-light-that-he-was-talking-about/
