The Sanctuary
The Sanctuary
The wind grows cold, branches turning bare sending yellow leaves down in silent arcs.
Raindrops tap a steady rhythm on the window pane while inside, the world stays safe and still.The espresso machine hums its lazy tune and spiced cider flows in deep gold waves.
I hold the heavy ceramic cup, absorbing the heat watching steam rise in soft, slow curls as cinnamon and roasted beans sweeten the air. Every sip tastes like a quiet afternoon a brief pause while daylight fades into an early night.
The ceramic mug clicks against the wood, empty I push past the heavy glass door breaking the spell of cinnamon and steam.
The street greets me with a sharp, gray slap—traffic roaring, the wind pulling at my collar.
My shoulders tense under the weight of what waits next stepping back into the noise and the heavy, crowded day, but for a few blocks more the ghost of warm cider stays on my tongue ,a small, hidden shield against the frost.
Fall is here, its aroma stays upon my lips, warm soft fall sweater wrapped snuggly around my neck, untill tomorrow where my Sanctuary will once again beckon me
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
