In a corner,
Of the house,
With a steaming cup of amber tea,
And a book in the hand,
He sat devout;
Contemplating lifes uncertainty.
Where we are and who we choose to be.
Lost in the reflection of the light in the golden liquid.
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Fidgety yet at peace, sipping from the cup of tea.
The hustle and bustle of the world,
Outside the window, outside the door.
Seeping in like a lions roar.
Chirping birds and a rumbling of the machines,
Who knew, could complement each other and form a symphony.
Huddling to find a sliver of warmth,
The winter creeps up, misting the sighs,
Of the silent mouth.
Those captured nuances of the colours of a breezy morning,
Shone in the stained glass.
Those creeping edges of the ceiling,
Shone in the stained glass.
Are but a reflection of the allure,
Reality holds in its seething grasp.
Alas a cup of tea, steaming and warm.
Who thought could take me to worlds unknown?
