In the Cafe

 

Sitting.

Pondering.

Gazes out the window.

Orange autumn leaves �" dancing in the air.

Dreaming.

In the window, a busy cafe.

The clink of glasses...of a register.

The clashing chatter.

In the corner sits a man.

A gray suit adorns him while his black hat sits upon the table.

Inside the man - idling thoughts.

Memories of a past life.

Circling

As a greyhound in an endless track.

Chance.

A dream, dreamed a thousand times over.

The man's dream.

These thoughts serve as consumption of the soul �" the inanimate heart

The one which beats solemnly

Beyond the window of the cafe sits a world.

Vacant.

Where the man finds not a shred of hope.

Vacant as the darkened soul of this man of many, many mistakes.

Solidarity, not quite.

As those roaming, on two legs, outside the cafe, amidst those autumn leaves are no different than the man in the cafe.

 

 

 

 

[This piece is for public viewing only. Therefore, it is not to be of profit to anyone but the writer, Jenny Colon, herself.]