Old men with nothing to do,
Who've yet to get started...

A circle of old friends,
their coffee hot and bitter,
like their memories of youth gone by.
Reliving the past with half-remembered stories,
half-baked lies,
and imagined truths only half-discovered.
Their days now as lifeless as crumpled leaves
scattered by the cold, hard winds
of yesterdays that were once their tomorrows.

The remaining days of their lives
measured in cups of lament,
filled to the brim with memories
of paths not traveled,
chances not taken,
and love never found,
fading slowly in the haze of soft regret.

Their untapped wells of knowledge,
with life experience seeping through,
form stagnant pools of advice for youth
who don't listen,
don't care,
and don't know or wonder about frail words
spoken in meaningful jest,
by old men whose lives don't seem to matter anymore.

Old men with nothing to do,
Finished before the day begins...

Now left to compare scars of battles with life
and secrets of success never quite obtained.
Steam rising from their cups,
like the spirit of their youthful dreams,
drifting off into thin air,
to mingle with the stale smoke of bridges burned.

Their weathered faces hide behind wrinkled masks,
sculptured by pain earned from hard work,
harder lessons,
and hardest times.
Arguing grumpily over the bill that comes due
because they feel all their debts have been paid in full,
with interest.

The hands of the clock seem to move more swiftly now,
speeding onward towards eternity,
towards rest,
towards another world
where the coffee is free,
the waitress doesn't expect a tip,
and the tables are always clean.

Old men with nothing to do,
And an eternity to finish...

The Eclectic Pen - Coffee Shop

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