In the quiet hum of the cafe, beneath the dim, flickering lights

In the quiet hum of the café, beneath the dim, flickering lights, The Poet sat, a relic of past ambitions, his soul adrift in the sea of his thoughts. The Muse, with gentle and understanding eyes, brought him his coffee, Her gaze, a fleeting touch of divinity amid the cold machinery of life. Her kindness, a fragile thread in the tapestry of his existence, A momentary glimmer in the shadows that swirled within him. Life, he mused, was a relentless dance with troubles, An endless waltz where every step led to another snare. He had understood this truth, not from books or sages, But from the raw, unfiltered experience of living, From the grind of daily monotony, the suffocating embrace of routine. Forty-eight years, and he was weary — a deep weariness that crushed his soul. The poetic pursuit, once a ladder to transcendence, now a prison of words and silence, Each verse, a reminder of deception, each stanza, a cage for his spirit. The thrill of secret inspirations, once intoxicating, now a bitter aftertaste, The readings, the celebrations, mere masks for the emptiness within, Every accolade for every poem, a shackle that bound him tighter. He had walked away, seeking freedom in the void, But found that nothingness had its own weight, An invisible burden that crushed him just as surely. Isolation had come, a severing of ties that left him adrift, And melancholy, a temporary solace, soon became another chain. The Poet sipped his coffee, the warmth a fleeting comfort, And reflected on the roads he had traveled, the choices he had made. In his mind, the dream of a gentler path, a middle way, Where neither the hustle nor the destitution reigned, But such a road seemed an illusion, a phantom in the mist. So here he sat, between the past and an uncertain future, A soul stripped of pretense, raw and vulnerable, Seeking meaning in the simple act of drinking coffee, The Muse's kindness, a balm for his wounded soul, Her eyes a reminder that even in the depths of despair, Divinity could still shine through, a beacon in the night.