She Is Sleepless, She Is Probing

They read your lines
They perhaps like you
They try to read you
In between
she is sleepless
And she pities you
she is probing
And she writes for you too
And you feel so honored

Comes our arrogance
You say you write
Only for yourself
For art’s sake
You say you cannot
Write for no other
You say you cannot
Stop writing
Your essence is just that
To write for no other

To write or you die

Be kind
Let them read you through the night
Let them follow you
Warn them though
They may have followed
A blind man eking his way through
His darkness

Without even a cane to feel his way.

The Virgin Mary
And Veronica
The crying mother
And the cloth to wipe a bloody face

Don’t stretch further
There is no Christ in me.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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