(untitled #13) Poem by bob barci

(untitled #13)

Rating: 2.7


He sits, quietly,
in the brightly lit room.
The room is small
but seems large
because of the life lived there.

He sits, and waits.
“Waiting is the pits.”, he thinks.
While waiting, he listens.
A musical tape is in the recorder
with songs sung by Sam Harris.
He likes what he hears
and silently sings along.

He sits, thinking.
Thinking of words to write
and of how much longer
he’ll have to wait.
“Waiting stinks.”, he thinks.
He wants no part of it.

He sits, and waits.
Waiting for the one thing
that will make his waiting worthwhile.
But, should he wait, he wonders.

He sits, and writes.
Writing down words
to help pass the time.
The time moves quickly.
“Too quickly.”, he thinks.

He sits, and takes note.
Waiting is worthwhile, he feels.
For now, he has
his written words and
what he has been waiting for
all along.

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