Aged Emptiness

An old park bench beckons.  Mildew on the stone frame and mould on the wooden slats.  Old and forgotten.  Each day lots of people pass by it.  Almost none stop by.  Most are aware of its existence.  Some will complain that it is an eyesore.

From time to time, the birds land on it - probably the only beings that use it.  They leave after a brief stopover, leaving nothing but droppings.  Some passers by will comment about the filth that surrounds it.  The decaying leaves, the marks of the years of avian droppings.

Its only company is the tree that provides some shade and comfort in the sun and rain.  And perhaps the equally lonely bench next to it.  Together, they stare into the openness ahead of them.  Watching the sun rising and feeling the last warmth as the sun sets behind them.  Only to repeat the cycle of rising and setting, rising and setting, rising and setting.

Aged.  Forgotten.  Ignored.

Waiting in quiet silence for the day when someone will come and dismantle them and cart them away.

The stone to be broken, the wood to be burnt.