Thread: Tempest In A Teacup

An old man sits on his porch
as I walk down the street wrapping my scarf tight.

Snow is falling slightly,
the sun hides behind the clouds shyly.

The bus bench isn't welcoming,
but is where I find my seat.

The people who walk by I don't know,
I can see a man with a golden telescope.

With one blue eye he sees the future,
with one brown eye he sees the past.

His torn sweater tells a story of a fallen family
and a lonely life.

Smiling with high hopes and helplessness he tells
the world his story through teary eyes.

An old lady sits next to me smelling of expensive
perfume and peppermints.

She mumbles to herself slightly,
and rocks back and forth.

A picture falls from her purse of a
handsome man in black and white.

She says his name is Walter A. Wright,
the love of her life.

Her eyes tell a story of the long lost war
and a lost life.

I see the bus at the end of the block.

As it rounds the corner I stand up from
the bench and walk off into the snowy street.