Wednesday, June 22, 2005


empty columns of cold chairs
sit there in their solemn stares
smell of coffee is a gurgling sound
acoustic guitar being strummed around
second hand goes past the ten minute mark
twenty minutes and it will all come to a start
cold chairs will be warmed by their familiar owners
conversations will be stronger as the smell of flowers
philosophy and theology are spoken here
ever becoming closer to the wondrous sphere

© 2001 thomas bates

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