A Cup of Coffee

It was something like night time; half past nine o'clock and fully dark-- I remember how the winds blew, the trees outside shook with winter and it was cold for quite a while-- I watched how the frost nibbled at the oncoming guests, none alike, holding onto their gifts so proudly-- I wonder, what was even so important that they would wade through snow? The smell of grandma's home brew, put my mind at ease, never bitter-- never once bitter, or too strong, or too mild, it was as if she knew-- the troubles I would endure. All my cousins, and their cousins, uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces, three and four generations together-- dishes and furniture would break and all together, a hypocritical chant. These pretenders and false believers, like vultures that glide for a meal-- I shake my head, my hands tremble, I long for rest though it is hours away, another piece of cake and a smile. Another sip of the Colombian blend, the taste is sweet, my throat, soothing-- my lips feel honest and serene, nothing can take this from me-- no, not even this empty crowd. There is a great deal to speak of, judgement is passed with the salt-- I do not wish to hear their voices, for their problems are all my fault-- and I, must seal up like a vault, more ripples in my cup of coffee...