Foolish

You are foolish with your art
It is killing you slowly day by day

You do not even have time
To wash your face or clean

Your ears, the earwax
Makes you deaf and you

No longer hears your rhythm
You write poems, you keep on

Writing poems. And what do
You get in return? Nothing.

You are helplessly poetic
Best friend of Sisyphus.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!