Morning, Noon And Nighttime Poem by RIC BASTASA

A baby crawling
A man surging to sex and moaning to his ecstasies
He is strong
He conquers
He forgets

Where he comes from where he is going
Why he is here

Time. Morning, noon, and nighttime
The seasons that it owns: spring, summer, autumn and winter
The rainy days, the sunny days, colder, warmer,
Freezing and melting,
Sunsets and sunrises

Sensations of time passing, how quick, how fickle
A click and there I am now fifty years old

A swinging of the cradle and how many swings were there
That I remember
And now I am seventy years old

How quick
How short

Time runs so fast, we always talk about the time that ran so fast
We haggle
Time is too short for what I am for where I am going and
For why I am here

It was something thrown and it does not return
Like a word that once was said

You were strong and so arrogant and so unkind

Now you are begging
Kneeling,
Bowing
Kissing time’s feet
Rises so humbly with the help of a cane
Trembling
For mercy
Compassion

There must be a way to an extension for some
Things to be finished for a mission to be accomplished
For such real reason why I am here

Why
I
Am
Here?

Time knows no regret Time does not explain
Alas!
A beggar does not choose and time is his most cruel master.

He does not even hand in some crumbs and
No drops of water
Time is silent and so secretive and it even
Wouldn’t have a word to say it remains unseen.

Alas!