one wonders, at times, in the middle of <br />(nowhere) <br /> <br />of the room, where books scatter like chairs <br />after a wild party, that class reunion after <br /> <br /> <br />25 long years, (back to the main point) <br />of wonder, when pushed at the edge, <br /> <br />whether, the things done, year after year, <br />polishing each, like old shoes that do not break <br /> <br />priding of their crocodile skins, are right <br />correct, and justified, whether the conclusions <br /> <br />arrived at are, true, useful, and normally <br />good, one lays his head against the tip <br /> <br />of the easy chair, supports the neck with both <br />hands and look at the ceiling for answers that <br /> <br />do not come out easily, but appear like lizards <br />still waiting for their cockroach and favorite mosquitoes, <br /> <br />this office has mosquitoes and cockroaches, <br />and, as the answers are not ready made, but <br /> <br />slimy like fishes on the river Kwai, one stares like <br />a blank wall, eyes closed later, fall into sleep and <br /> <br />dream.<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thoughts-before-the-much-needed-sleep/
