Where To We Will Never Know
A quintain poem of wonder
Does he have an illness that no one understands?
The man whoβs yelling at the sky
While sitting and yelling on the bench.
Is he upset at the world,
Or something closer to his hand?
π·β€οΈβ¦οΈππΆ
A lady comes and sits down close,
She tries to console him with love and a tender heart
He pushes her away from him
Yells at her with an angry voice
When she just wants to hold him tight.
π·β€οΈβ¦οΈππΆ
What caused this latest rift, we will never know
Was it some form of infidelity
Some form of money or other woe
Everyone seems on edge today
No one wants to let go.
π·β€οΈβ¦οΈππΆ
This yelling and this screaming upsets
My little girl's sensitive hearts,
Such sensitive souls to people out of control.
The man moves along the bench, further from her soul
A distance now separates her touch from his soul.
π·β€οΈβ¦οΈππΆ
Minutes come and minutes go
Things seem to quieten down,
Finally, she holds his hand, and
They both drive off together,
Where to we will never know.
π·β€οΈβ¦οΈππΆ
[Author's note: This poem was inspired by a man who arrived on the bench near the ocean just below my place. He appeared very angry, yelling at no one in particular.
[I normally wouldn't have taken any notice, except that my two little dogs ("my two little girls") were getting quite upset. He was jollied by a woman who tried for some time to console him. It must have worked because they both left in a car, where we will never know. It just goes to show you can write about anything.]
Till next time,
Calvin
About the Creator
Calvin London
I write fiction, non-fiction and poetry about all things weird and wonderful, past and present. Life is full of different things to spark your imagination. All you have to do is embrace it - join me on my journey.
Keep reading
More stories from Calvin London and writers in Poets and other communities.
Do You have a Support Network?
Life is harder when youβre on your own. Human beings are social creatures, and we usually feel better when we have support from a strong social network around us. For most people, itβs our families that hold us together like glue.
By Elizabeth Woods7 days ago in Psyche
Comments (1)
Awe how lovely he was there and your poem reading it I felt like I was too. πΊπΊπΊ