Odd-fellow

Silently he sits, as his eyes cross the room.
The breeze flutters in, rustling the magazines and small talk.
Chatter and buzz, tea and coffee cups.
A man joins at his side, greeting no one.
Shaking hands with only his past.
The smile on both, reaches around.
Unsettles the young, but comforts the knowing.
Clothes dishevelled. Hair uncombed.
The smudges on their glasses irritate no one.
They are alone in their memories.
Caring not for the call to eat.
Or the call of nature.
Held captive by a guest never welcomed in.
But tantalises them with sugar coated histories.
And kisses of those already dead.
They are friendly, but lost.
Vacant in their static.
Soon they will be put to bed.
Tucked in with their nightmares and stained sheets.
Yet these men are like astronauts, time travellers and heroes.
They survive what we will never see.
Only odd, to a world which purifies.
And wishes to erase what it doesn’t understand.

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