The critic sits bored on his high horse
wasting valuable moments
allowing time to spill away
like rain down a gutter
racing to the sea
and a life therein

Blessed hours squandered recklessly
Time when one may have
walked a dog
or child if so blessed
or oneself
But the critic refuses to experience
That which he is so ready
To disparage
He is myopic
Seeing only that
Which pleases his
Bombastic
Ego