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