Chair
I have legs,
I have arms,
I am still, so still,
I am a chair.
No one has ever named me anything but chair,
I’ve never really wondered why,
I know my purpose,
I am used for human comfort.
I sit, they sit,
They lean, fidget,
Two or maybe three will sometimes squeeze,
In between my outstretched arms.
I once fell in love,
Yes I can feel such emotion,
I knew her name,
But not mine, don’t you think that’s strange?
They called her something beautiful,
Far more beautiful than chair,
They called her sofa,
If chairs could have children, I’d have named one sofa.
She sat staring at me,
She moved in opposite to me,
I know I’ve said this before,
But she was stunning.
She never said a word,
And then one day she went,
If chairs could cry,
I would have.
I once asked myself,
Where do I come from?
I believe I came from somewhere outside these four walls,
Somewhere amazing.
Perhaps something created me,
I love that something,
Just like I loved sofa,
I thank them for giving me life.
Even if it is as a chair.
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