Disruptive thoughts of life intruded upon the peaceful scenery of the Sunday park
as a slow-moving sad faced old gentlemen
frozen by the years of solitude 
made small talk
with the chattering afternoon bird crowd.

Reclining in a death pose upon the bench
he frowned at the sky 
as the sun forced him out of his pretended grave shell
and the passing breeze gently prodded him
with thoughts of decay. 

"I was free once,” the wind whispered
“before the soft feather down of clouds framed my presence with sea swirls and land rot.
Now I am told where to blow. 

Gone are the days when I skimmed over the ocean in limitless contemplation of all life. 

The East?
The East always demanded more of me than I was willing to give.

The West?
The West loved me for the legends I blew through their land.

The North?
Yes, The North owns my heart, and always will.

The South?
The South never wanted me. Though they were always glad whenever I showed up. 

That is my tale. So move over my old friend.
Let me rest my weary bones beside you.
Share in your pain. 

Until the dark mistress arrives
To cover our presence
With the black light Of obscurity."