cafe
At
The end
Of some street
Whose name is lost,
We watch the rain fall
And exhale our worries.
The coffee is always fresh,
The cigarette smoke lingering
As the weight of the day falls away;
"What town are you from? What brings you 'round here?"
And such questions are asked leisurely,
Since we'll forget when we depart.
This transient place and all
The lost souls who come through,
They'll flee from our thoughts
When we feel we
Can stand on
Our own
Feet.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
