Do you ever walk just a little off pace?   And take a look at a strangers face   Point in case:   It's Sunday morning   And I'm crossing the park   It's only about an hour after dark   Still fresh   The cold breeze seems to bite at my flesh   I turn my collar up   My face is far from impressed   Then I pick up something from the corner of my right eye   It's a white guy slumped across a bench   Suited under a business mans trench   I recognise a... alcohol stench   Man looks tired, he's staring into space   And has a pensive but sullen look painted on his face   So I change pace yet I don't speed up I slow down   Drawn to the sorce of the force behind his frown   I sit down   He looks about fifty-five   And as we sit together in silence... there's no-one else alive   It's like a scene from some placid apocalypse   Him with his vodka lips   Me with my headphones   We sit and breath the mornings dead tones   People still in bed tones   Sleepy yet appearing clear in head tones   H-Hmm, I cough   And for a second I think our bench might take off   Like a spaceship made of concrete and wood   It's all good   As he speaks he turns to face me   And I notice he has a black eye that I didn't see before   I see more than the average quota of worry lines around his eyes   Which are deep, sunken and dark   Two strangers meeting in the park   Stark differences and appearance but   There's nobody here to judge   'You should never hold a grudge' his voice is gravelly   And wisdom unravels me so I try and stay focused   I ask him what he means   He says, 'We spend too much time awake to be ever concerned with dreams'   He looks older than he seems   And has the aura of a man coming apart at the seems   You know what I mean?   'Whats all good then?'   Thats my next question   He says, 'Try stepping out to look in, that's my suggestion'   I say, 'Well, that's all good and well but you can't go through your whole life in third person can you?'   His face changes   Position re-arranges and what's strange is; I'm getting more and more intrigued    Both of us fatigued and yet we proceed to discuss the difference between what we want and what we really need   We all bleed even if we never see it   So take heed or else you'll blink and then you'll be it   The person   The thing   That which you hate   And the ones who say it's never too late   Have never lost   Strive for the best in your life   At what cost?   Kids you hardly know, wife cold as Jack Frost   Embossed, raised questions printed on bones   That never crossed the mind of a million clones   I ask him, 'Is this then a means of escape? Last bastion of manhood, a beautiful poison grape?'   He says, 'Don't be dramatic. I'm just here for a drink and my thoughts.'   'I think now-a-days you call it "me time"'   I say,' I know what you mean. Room to breath and be time, close your eyes to see time'   He says, 'Yes'   Now there's about three feet between us   And if you'd seen us you might of thought this was some seedy pursuit of penis but   All it was, was a meeting of two souls   One young, one old   One warm, one cold   'I hope you don't think me too bold,' I say, 'But is there a chance you become passive as a way out?'   'Failing to see a day out seems common in the unsure'   An empty house bilt on bad foundations   He says, 'Let me tell you something, contentment is a myth'   'But what if?'    He cuts me off, 'I didn't finish. Let me tell you something, contentment is a myth... if you have regrets'   I say, 'Well don't get upset, but no shit Sherlock. That much seems obvious'   His eyes move forward become less hideous   As the morning Sun rises   He asks my name as if he doesn't know   I said, 'They call me PolarBear, but my birth certificate says Steven'   'Ah Steven, Steven. He who is non-believing'   I say 'No.'   'Somebody told me that Steven means king and if I know one thing it's that a middle-aged man's inebriated generalisations should go no further than his piss stained throne'   He hears the change in my tone and adjusts himself in response   Ensconced in his own state of mind.   I find myself thinking, did i ever know this man and did he throw away his plan   Or was he genuinely wronged?   Not sure I ever know   But any and either way I know it's time to go so   I go to stand up   And as I do he puts his hand up and 'Hu-ahah' clears his throat   'So what's your philosophy? What's your ethos? Do you believe in Jesus and the good in all men? You haven't seen anything yet.'   I look at him   His collar wet with sweat his face wet with tears now dry   'All I can do before I die,' I say, 'Is try to keep my eyes my ears and my mind open and if I do that there'll be no need for hoping or anxieties about coping with life's oh-so many obstacles'.   'You're young,' he says, 'Time changes a man'   'Time changes everything,' I reply, 'I have to try and change myself'   'So enjoy your drink and your thoughts and as you add up the ones and the noughts be sure to allow for the future'   He offers his hand   To shake it   Do I take it?   Of course I do   I can't begrudge this man anything   But as I walk away from cold concrete and wood   I feel somewhere between good and not so good   Yet nonetheless inspired   The thought grows in me that I could be pre-wired to share that same fate   Whether early or late I could wake up in that same state   On the same throne of the once great   Maybe   Or maybe if I remain bold I can break the mould of it all grown cold and breath out the false promises told   I dunno   I hope so   A dog barks   Just as I reach the edge of the park   And for the snap back to reality I'm glad   'Cause you know every epiphany feels like a gift to me   As I glance back at my distant old Dad