Every morning, I robotically walk to the local coffee shop
The same old man sitting at table three,
Who wears his intelligence on his brow,
Searches through mountains of texts
On how to give his life sustenance

All the while, a somber young man scribbles
An intimate poetry session in his moleskin
His face always sadden by the prose
Heavy writing hand suggesting frustration

I only wish they both can break away
From their pages and notice today
that their commonalities could heal their sorrows
Heal one another through their humanity

But for now my latte awaits
I'll see you tomorrow gentlemen