Every now and again I like to sit down,
On a park bench, pew, or a bar in town.
With a cup of tea, let my worries untie,
And give a moment for each passer by.
I drift from out of the fore to the scenery,
An extra within the biopics of humanity.
Each person has a vivid and complex life,
Someone they love: family, husband or wife.
Within each person is an epic untold,
Each a vessel of the tales they hold.
Some are of loss, some are of love,
Wandering nomadically from up above.
And in each of these stories I play a role,
Sitting on my perch, warding off the cold.
I am but a tiny part of their life's narrative,
At most a stranger they exchange a glance with.
And I wonder, how ignorant am I?
To let each one of them to pass me by,
Without stopping them and enquiring,
What each of them is most desiring?
They are all chaotically unique,
Each one of them a kind of freak.
All a bizarre consequence of nature,
Chemistry, and their family's nurture.
Wide eyed as this realisation becomes clearer,
I'm sitting here and out of focus in your theatre.
In the wings for my cue, not yet a factor,
To step on and become your lead actor.
