A Quarter Past Four Poem by Michael John Cook

I took refuge on a bench in the quiet courtyard,
Seeking abandon and freedom, this day has been hard,
And with one heavy chime, my silence was marred,
As the clock struck a quarter past four.

A young woman, many miles away, that had been untrue,
Took a step, and with it, closer to the cliffs edge she drew,
With another step, over, her body downward flew,
As the clock struck a quarter past four.

Another young lady, not so far away,
Giving birth to her child, on this momentous day,
Gripping her sobbing husbands hand, demanding he stay,
As the clock struck a quarter past four.

A child of no older than nine or maybe ten,
Left alone in the playground with not as much as a friend,
His Father obviously late to collect him, again,
As the clock struck a quarter past four.

Oblivious to all of these other people's existence,
I stay perched on this bench, keeping my distance,
Thinking selfishly just about my predicaments,
As the clock strikes a quarter past four.