coffee… conversation starter for years
warms our spirits
striking smell
stirs thought
brews
talk
turns to
thanksgiving
toasts gratitude
replenishing our hearts with memories
There was a server at the local cafe you see
Who got in trouble when refilling cups of coffee
Many said just a shot
Half a cup was said a lot
But she lost her job when one said hit me
My coffee cup is empty.
My mind could use refillin'.
God, overflow my heart;
So I can
Do some spillin'.
Please take away my
coulds and wipe away
my cant's.
I'll walk into a life anew,
First, help me find my pants.
Main words used-Life, Sun, Moon, Time, Refill
Life draws its curtains too soon
Not enough days to appreciate the sun and the moon;
Is there a way to make time stand still?
Hoping for some sort of a life refill.
I selected the above mentioned words as the theme of the poem because they bring out the main essence of the poem, which is to not take time for granted,and live life appreciating all the good things, be it big or small, so that by the end of your life journey, you don't have any regrets.
The people around disappear.
My voice makes its way home.
Finding comfort in your ear.
You resonate within my heart.
Stirring a soul that no longer knows fear.
In the end all that I knew before will no longer exist.
Everything chipped and shattered in a million pieces.
Sheer signs of destruction.
But still I drunk, knowing the full consequence.
The shaping of objects that no longer obstruct view.
The people all around completely unaware.
The existence of something awoken by a single thought.
Pulled in by the urge of a single whisper.
Spilled from the brim of hand to mind.
A sweet substance grown to stick as it cools.
The thought of being held, embraced in the flicker of light.
A moment worth being withheld a moment longer.
Not a moment to criticize nor. but a moment of introduction.
To take such gift and wish that this could last for more than a moment.
More than two.
To stir something so factious. So addictive.
At that moment I realized what I was missing
Words, woven into the kernel of my emotion
penned by sagacious poets on the soup,
are calling forth poetry,
from my mind's tower.
I can also hear the muse,
dictating another lines of poems.
But, why is my pen's stroke faint,
on the padded book I write?
Don't you think I need a refill?
I am the pen of life
Held between the fingers
Of a much greater power
I flow my footprints onto pages
Even glass, wood or the roughest surface
Engraving a non cryptic legacy
Bleeding in cursive inkblots
Embedding confusion into the psyche
Of the psychological
And stain with smudges the white card backdrops
Where all but the unknown remain
To taint and blemish
The nature of the purest liquid
Rolling, tumbling, leaking
Crying mascara from start to finish
To leave some memory
Of any sort of acceptance
While in a putrid state of lucidness
Gliding, striving, soul seeking
For purpose and repentance
My greatest fear
Is that it will start to rain
Before the ink has dried
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.