The thoughts of the man on the bench/the unspoken mind.

Eyes closed
viewed asleep
wide awake
he tells the stars he has no answers
lying on a bench.
Fingertips dipped into his pockets
heart resting
full of deadly silence
in his chest.
Knees high in the crisp air
spirits low against the cold bench
tears prowling behind his eyes
waiting for the signal
to launch their strike.
As the moon creeps
the ideas which have him on this bench
carry their shovels over their shoulders
preparing for a long night of digging ahead.
Blueprints for mile long trenches
and bottomless pits
never to be filled
are sketched into this night's plan.
Mouthing his emotions
sending them to the stars
not trying to act spiteful
just trying to find meaning.
They crave so much and return so little,
he explains.
I want to just be, I want no trouble, to just be.
They won't let me have even that. Just that.
The stars ask,
Why do you wrestle all of your feelings?
Shrugs,
he answers
as he lays
on the cold concrete bench
(knees high,
spirits low).
You don't need to. You're the only one who understands,
explain the stars.
He closes his eyes
resting on the bench
viewed asleep
wide awake.
I'm the only one who understands what?
he asks.
Yourself,
replies the moon.
And it'll always be that way,
finish the stars.

It'll Always Be That Way by Calvin