It’s New York,
where lives do happen,
cross through Central Park,
onto 7th until we find ourselves,
sitting on a bench,
wondering where everyone is coming from,
hoping that we might find peace.
We keep looking in their eyes,
sometimes the notice is true,
they walk by searching themselves
for some resting point,
a place they can call home.
He is that man alone in a world,
where everything exists,
and he’ll ride his bicycle all hours of the night,
because he can,
he can maneuver through the masses,
he can still eat his dinner alone.
She might be that woman living different roles,
walking through the park,
with a certain flair,
an attraction to the masses,
yet, in her mind,
no one really notices,
because she has felt alone.
I took the day off today
because I needed rest,
seems that has been a necessary event,
while the world continues to glow around me,
I center my eyes upon tears,
for it seems they are always near,
waiting for some answer,
a reason to suggest there is purpose,
even when nothing seems to matter,
only time continues to measure.
When that moment called me,
I stood before an audience,
Strangers all of them so cold,
the bitter icy winds of discontentment,
without notice walked away,
while my body wondered about time,
the descent, how far, how chilled, how quickly.
Then she became the moment,
amongst many beyond that walkway …
she is love.