Saturday, June 29, 2013

A Poem by Richard Schnap


It was Sunday. He sat outside
A coffeehouse under a grey canopy

Of clouds, watching his corner of the world
Pass by, noticing the ones who walked

Alone, old men with haunted faces,
Young girls with sad blue eyes,

All seeming lost and in no hurry
To reach somewhere no different

From where they began. And he wondered
What made them that way, what it was

They wished for, an easy death,
An honest love, or maybe something else,

A longing that had no name, wore no face,
Cast no shadow, mirrored no reflection,

That was only revealed after it was gone,
When it was too late to stop it and ask it why.

Richard Schnap is a poet, songwriter and collagist living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His poems have most recently appeared locally, nationally and overseas in a variety of print and online publications.

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