Man on the bench
By, Jack Beaudette
A wandering man his eyes a hue of loneliness
Sat next to me and I knew of his sadness
Amongst people he knew he masked his true soul
But here in the subway he was out of his role
A character completely lost and confused
Now sat here his heart obviously bruised
His hand shook and somehow he seemed to know
There was no chance of repair… he had reached a new low
Had he cultivated his own empty plot
Or had others shaped him into miseries mascot
Sitting there bleakly staring into space
I noticed a tear falling down his face
Looking around to see if any one else had seen
I sat there unnoticed as people went about their daily routine
The man was now gone and everything was clear
He was never really there, it had been my own tear
I had hoped this man wasn’t really me
But no matter what I did I was unhappy
I had over time torn every last sinew of hope
So I left the bench and continued down my lonely slope
As I walked away the man looked into my eyes
And I felt bad for him, but went on with my disguise
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