My Work... Poem by RIC BASTASA
My Work...
i work so hard,
i know you know.
i work all the hours of the day
with a little break for lunch
and then i go back to work again.
my brain aches.
my fingers tremble a little bit
my soul shuts up as my body
does all the thinking and working.
after that, i write.
and so i write as a dead tired man.
what do you expect beauty from this
write up?
if exhaustion is beauty, then it is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 2:12:42 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
