Poetry 101 Poem by RIC BASTASA

such is a waste of my time
and i regret this indulgence
which to my mind
has become my own self-inflicted
torture
as i have other many noble things
to be done
to glorify myself like some kind of
a hero to my time
and place

everything is just passing by
everything is temporary
we will not be here for all time
we are just light fading
water drops
or some appearing rainbow and then
quickly gone as though nothing
significant had happened

somehow i must realize
there is this little benefit
for a moment i am like a fruitfly
alive on such a juicy rotten apple
with a worm and a mold thrown by
a child who is angry about his
mother driving a car on a very busy
road

it is this temporary feeling of
anxiety that does this trick
somehow it disappears when the last
line is written
as though a sculpture of a bust is
finally finished and
it is left there alone in the room
smiling after the light is turned off
and then the room is locked.