I don't want when
I don't know what to do
with what's already in
my hand.
This constant urge to
escape-
Is the grass really green
on the other side?
I wonder about it with a
cup of coffee in hand.
Where does the peace
lie though?
Does contentment linger
between the ribs or
it fleets somewhere far?
When the chair I sit has
enough to offer,
I don't know what to do
with these thoughts that
seek comfort in a
foreign land-
So I take a sip and
contemplate about how
the mind might sit here
or wander elsewhere.
May sulk in a room or
bask beneath the shadows
of pyramids-
The other side maybe
green or offer, a whole
spectrum of the rainbow-
and as I take another sip
of this bitter black liquid,
I hypothesize-
That if you aren't happy
with a cup of coffee,
You can't really be happy
with anything else.