Harsh day, Long face
Heart brimming with tears
A raw keen hidden in my throat
Sometimes it's all too much.
And then I put the kettle on
And watch the steam pirouette
Like some world-weary sorceress
I brew my troubles away
In it goes, into a mug
The one with the orange flowers
Just the feel of the warm melamine
Is such blessed relief
The teabag plump and soft is
Painting the water a warm brown
The colour so warm and familiar
It's like meeting an old friend
A spoon full of gleaming sugar
And stir, stir, stir
My little brew, my perfect potion
Is as good an elixir as any
The first sip is heaven
This is what inner peace tastes like,
Warmth envelops me whole
An intangible blanket
A cup of tea works magic
On a dreary Sunday evening
Like some world-weary sorceress
I brew my troubles away
YOU ARE READING
NEPENTHE
PoesíaHi there! The word NEPENTHE means anything that induces forgetfulness of sorrow or pain. I, for one, believe that little things like smiles, my mother's comfort food and long walks are the best forms of nepenthe around. These poems celebrate the s...
