A Time's Presence

The old man sits on the park bench
Watching the people go by
Every day, it’s the same old man
On the same bench, at the same time

Puffing a cigar watching the wistful smoke
The old man seems satisfied and asks for no more
The park fills, it empties and the next day, repeats
Like the rising of the sun, his treasure to keep

Life in the city is a rat race and empty
Only the old man treasures his plenty
Of beauty and nature his wise mind ponders
And where will they go, of the people he wonders

As the evening settles and the sun must turn in
So the old man goes home to his tonic and gin
Brushing the day off of his worn, battered sweater
He lays down to sleep thinking of nothing so better

Some time has gone by and the park bench is barren
The old man and his presence no longer linger
A season has passed and now the people keep thinking
“Where is the old man?” with hearts still sinking.  

 

Reviews

[frnd]

Wow Paul. I told you before that I really like this poem and it is still true. There is so much emotion in this one, though it is only barely felt until the very end. The ending is unexpected.