Working So Hard Poem by RIC BASTASA

working so hard
time becomes immaterial
your sense of time is lost
like the way you lose that
sense of smell, and the grape
does not taste like one,
but just another meaningless
fruit in the boring garden.

working so hard
you lose yourself and your
friends, and you find
nothing but a room with
a closed door and an
open table lamp sincerely
accompanying you
in that search for truth
that search for cure of
this lonely disease.