The morning sun rises from beyond the horizon

Shining on an empty park.

Voices hum and shrill in the distance

Footsteps beat the ground,

around me

Cars screech and honk, all in a distance

The sound of a busy day.

My favorite time of the day, though

is Twilight

It highlights the time before night,

Before the sky darken and stars come alight

When the sun blushes, a glow of yellow-ish red rays, relieved of his duty

A temporary reprieve from a long shift

Before lovers make merry romance under a cold moonlight

Speaking of which,

Last summer, two teenagers sat here

Watching the sunset, and then their hands touched

“Are you sure about this?” She asked

“You mean the world to me”, he said, “right now”

I could vouch ambiguity but,

I am but welded wood parts

rooted in a park

Lonely for company.

I kept mute

A week later she returned

And she mourned her weakness

It was a summer fling, not supposed to mean a thing

But it did

At least only to this pretty young lady

Naivety got the better of her, and

Cost Kate her innocence

Her feet tap grew more anxious

As she wait for a love that never sailed beyond that evening

She took a piece of metal, as if to punish

As if it is my fault she was blinded,

The perfection the setting sun’s glow gave the moment

Should be criminal too

Yet, with the same hand caressed my back in pleasure

she scraped, she carved and,

she gnawed and epitaph on my back:

Here lies Kate’s innocence ’24.

Kofi killed her

And made a bitter version

To damn near perfection,

This is but my assertion

from the aggression in how she carved my flesh

How angrily she stormed off after that,

but what do I know?

I am just pieces of wood in the park,

trying to understand human interaction

To fill my own lonely days.

It isn’t always this sad

Sometimes,

when the weather is nice

People come to play, in the park

Like jack and his friends.

On those days, I do not feel so

alone.

They come in pairs, of adults with children

others come alone.

Children play, adults find excuses not to

Sitting here

yet, absent physically

Just mentally here.

About four sit, on me

and on the floor;

Two feet apart in two groups, barely talking.

They are either tweeting or talking about tweets

Eyes fixed on their little phones

So full of life, yet they are barely alive

They are out everyday, striving

seldom living.

I may be a bench, on a park

incapable of movement from dawn to dawn

from dusk to dawn

I also know we are much alike.

They are stuck too.

Bob isn’t where he wants to be

Pascalin doesn’t understand.

One wishes he hadn’t marry

The other clinging on

to the best thing that ever happen to her.

They are stuck too

But,

they share company, and take it for granted.

My companion is far out

To the other side of the park

I hear children play and dance on her

I just can’t reach across.

I am a lonely park bench, but they all are.

Aren’t you?