Tea
Drink
While it's hot
Let the liquid touch
Your quivering lips
To give you comfort
To give you warmth
Savour
The aroma
That tickles your nostrils
Giving a sensation--
A joyful memory
Of the past that has passed
Reminisce
The fragility
Of the teacup
To hold every drop
Amidst its versatileness
To contain each happiness
And lastly,
Wipe
The remains
The remnants of a blissful dream
Ponder over a thought
A half of a million times
To be able to live again
A tea is an art of life
A bittersweet taste.
#
YOU ARE READING
The Passionate Corpse
PoetryCorpses are gross, dirty and foul-smelling. At times, they're scary to look at. But curiousity enthralls upon something unpleasant. Amidst the ugliness, it satisfies the dark part of our soul-not meant to be human. Something about it is unnatural...
