Image credit:

Image credit:

My coffee is cold
Winter creeps across my threshold
With its stories and its laments
I am quite wired but still so tired
Growing old

My coffee is cold
Like the soul within I’ve sold
With its memories and tragedies
Still regretted, often fretted
Left untold

My coffee is cold
With so little left to hold
The grounds here gently darkening
Nothing stirring, no thoughts occurring
Nothing bold

(c) Helen Valentina 2014, All Rights Reserved

About Helen

I'm drawn to blogging as a way to share ideas and consider what makes us who we are. Whether it's in our working life or our creativity, expression is a means to connect.
This entry was posted in Earth, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Coffee

  1. Skye says:

    Oh, I love this, Sis!!! Don’t like cold coffee, though….yuck 🙂 ❤

  2. julespaige says:

    We are more valuable than we think. There is a wonderful children’s story of an old lady who feels quite alone and useless. So one day she sleeps in… The guy across the way in another apartment runs late, the news agent on the corner where she buys her paper in the morning forgets to put out something at his stand which he does after she goes by, the bus driver wonders if she is ill, the pregnant lady on the bus who she knitted a baby blanket for is also worried. Well you get the picture. In the end though some one in her building does tell her how much she has been missed and with renewed joy goes back to her routine. Something like that anyway.

    Every action can be young at heart, told, and quite bold when a writer unfolds them 🙂
    (You’ve been bookmarked – thanks again for your visit.) ~Jules

  3. ioniamartin says:

    I added ice to mine so I guess I cheated:) As always, you have an amazing way of articulating your thoughts

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