I'm told that libraries don't expect
anything but existence. Just calm
entrenchment within the written world.
Coffee shops are for the occasional date
or for those running late. Or maybe you're
an artist who's found their perfect brew.
For the more active among you, there are gyms,
filled with the like-minded, with a certain
masochism and considerable machismo.
When the sun dops, some venture out
seeking thumping beats and exotic drink.
You'll find haven in the Nightclub's folds.
There are parks for the nature lovers and
serial walkers, bird watchers and influencers,
and the occasional unseen young couple.
The open roads call those with a leather
fetish and a need for speed. The choking
city sounds and lights in their rear mirror.
Fair few find their space in the house of God.
They meet their brethren there while silent
or deep in meditation. Desserts before leaving.
To the bakers and makers and the recipe fakers,
your church is the kitchen. Sating the soul
as much as a rumbly-grumbly tummy.
Look around you! No matter your bend,
you'll find spaces of all kinds and trends.
Places with history. Spaces of mystery.
Spaces with style. Places to stay a while.
Yet people exist before such locations.
Tell me, do you fit any of the above vocations?
The solemn few nod in silent understanding.
"There is no zone for my specific branding."
Your value isn't contingent upon your art
just as mine isn't based on if you read this draft.
Maybe you are one who prefers to dream
or probably just watch the people teem.
Silence is your criterion. The void is your bliss.
Who is the world to deny you this?
May peace be your calling, its creation, divine.
I will meet you upon that quiet hill, with a bottle of wine.
