Wednesday, February 8, 2012

The tea cup is a deep sea of hot, minty liquid.
As I stir, waves form over the steaming surface.

A garden surrounds the delicate porcelain
with vibrant pink and yellow roses.
I pick up the dainty vessel
and take in the fresh aroma.  

Finally, I sip at the floral brew
until all that remains is an empty pond
of nothing.

4 comments:

  1. very elabrant, nice use of metaphor

    ReplyDelete
  2. I like it. Very descriptive and well written. Good job.

    ReplyDelete
  3. What is tea? I am guessing that it is a beverage. That you are comparing this drinking experience to the destructioin of a natural habitat is abhorrent in my opinion. Shame on you. Good poem, though

    ReplyDelete