Questions Without Answers Poem by Thomas Bates

Questions Without Answers



arrived early;
looking late.
the breath of fresh air has died away.
changing seasons -
it's incredibly hot outside
and my clothing
is inappropriate
for this weather.

at a distance,
a downtrodden man smokes a half-wet cigarette.
I've already embarrassed the secretary -
I can sympathize w/ this completely, and
aside from losing my mind
I am gaining awareness.

there is kindness and understanding,
and a gentle
push
of professionalism.
to apologize would be like
rubbing salt into an open wound, so I
sit
and write
and
understand.
(these moments are alive with disillusion
misspellings
and introspection.
would it be best to lay down and sleep, now?
or,
to do what I am doing?

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
written while sitting in a mental health clinic.
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success