Comfort from the Bleak
Vacantly perched on the chipped, cracked bench,
the wind holds no comfort.
He slouched, numb to all but the razor gouges
seared into his corpselike flesh by tears.
He finds only the solace of a lone maple,
imprisoned in its concrete cell.
Its branches stripped bare
by heartless winds and vindictive winter.
They yearn for the warm embrace
Of the sun's arms around them.
Spring and love will come again.
For now only desolation remains.