The Fists (A Revised Poem)

faced with a blank wall
the mind passes through it
over the fences

it goes beyond
kicks and jumps away

reinventing wings and
sharpening claws
on its personal journey

into the unknown
more real than what can be touched
by the hands

too theoretical
ephemeral

as one wakes up
for another usual morning

the fingers close upon a fist
lays itself upon the navel

one preaches
'what is here inside my fist
is real'

the wings in my head
are upcoming
unable to flap
and resigned.

by RIC BASTASA

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