A Bench for Two

A bench,

A home,

Inspiration for a solemn, lost soul,

Strangers plod,

Trod on,

Do not glance at my concentrated facade

Lost we all are,

In our own little worlds,

Our own network,

Giving our phones a smirk

Common faces may pass,

A look,

A nod,

A wave,

Faces now gone,

In a flash,

It happens every day

Alone my bench is,

Lonesome, I almost concede

Along the path,

Eyes connect,

What's that?

A foreign feeling indeed

We strike up rapport,

Another lost soul,

Wondering:

"Is this it? Is there not more?"

Won't you sit?

Won't you make a lonesome heart soar?

"A bench for two," I implore,

"Sit down, and have a conversation,

Or two,

Or more."

Ah, now this,

This would be beautiful folklore.