A man sat in a cafe,
all weathered and rugged,
weathered and forlorn,
weathered but he never rises too early,
he never rises before the dawn.
Gentle and quiet,
contemplating,
ruminating,
staring into the distance,
missing someone,
missing someone and rather forlorn,
and sitting there in the quiet,
in the quiet of the morn,
and not blinking,
and not flinching at the day,
but determined and staring ahead,
imagining what is to come and happy lost in thought,
and happy to let the day play out as it will,
and happy to be spontaneous,
and wanting nothing more than to be out in the fresh air,
and in the morning sun,
and wanting to be alone walking to who knows where,
and wanting to drink coffee,
until ready to explore the world as it comes,
wanting inspiration in each footstep,
and wanting to tread the fields,
and view natures glorious works of art,
and wanting to be inspired by everything,
wanting to be out in the breeze,
and in the fresh air,
the rain, the snow, and the sun,
and wanting soliloquy and quiet,
wanting,
wanting nothing more than to be free with no stress,
which in this modern world is as difficult as it comes.
A lonely man, observed from a distance,
A lonely man, missing someone.
A lonely man wanting to be amongst the fields and the trees,
wanting to be at the beach staring out at the sea,
and watching the waves crash upon the shore endlessly,
and wanting to be in beauty,
wanting to sit still without interruption,
and admire everything that I see.
A man wanting to be calm,
a man wanting to be happy,
wanting to be happy wherever he can be,
but soon to be on his way to work,
where there is little fun.
