Bench
A park square
No one cared
For the land
The box of sand
The rustling trees
The sound of morning carried on a breeze.
They built a small red cafe
To try making the park less empty
But the coffee was bitter, cold
And the scones were crumbly and old.
A bench sat untouched by a little blue fence
And when it was built, and ever on since,
It always looked unnoticed and lacking
The cherry paint was cracking.
Rust riddled the iron legs
And time still wears at the silver pattern.
But for them nothing else mattered
But hard, rock-like muffins
And chilly black coffee
Staring through the trees,
Sounds of morning carried on the breeze.
And curled up on the bench so ancient
Legs entwined, lips waiting, so patient,
To join in a sweet, perfect kiss.
Aw, so mushy and lovey-dovey! I just imagined an old couple on a cute, quiet bench, their undying love radiating between them, sharing their food and talking, just like they did years and years ago.... Yep, I am totally insane and mushy today! :D Bye, my awesome readers!
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Swept Ashore
PoetryBe swept away in the ocean of poetry, wash ashore in a sanctuary of words, a place where you will be safe from the harsh world of sanity, catch a breath of the sea breezy air, twinged with the insanity that only writers know.
