I return from my life, tired, restrained
to sit upon an old, worn bench.
The bench is me, I realize. It is tired.
I get up and walk towards the fountain:
It glistens with artificial sunlight.
I drink of it, to refresh my thoughts.
It is intoxicating. I am drunk with life.
I forget that old bench.
But when I recover from my intoxication
I return to it.
I stare into the pool at my feet
A pool of life
And I see everyone.
Everyone who is drunk on life.
There are many.
And now I see only myself,
only a few hours ago,
joining in the revelry.
I shake my head in disbelief.
So does the bench.
I fall off.
I know that I must stay with that bench
And not get drunk on life.
I must not abandon it.
It needs me.
I need it.
It is reflection.