Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Sleeping Tea

‘Tis a dark night in the desert
and I sit alone amidst its presence
upon its breath is a whisper
an announcement of grace
the chimes ting like thunder
and shake me from my thoughts.

He’s come again to take his tea,
Death, and his miasmic montage
so like the old friends we are
we sit and chat on things—
of life, of love, of the impending
 arc of the scythe pendulum cycle.

He needs another cup, he says,
of my red, copper tea.

Once more,
only to once more again
I bleed through broken tears
that fall from my eyes
and gather in my hands
and pour for him his tea.

I sit pale, growing tired
as the night’s life dies into day
and he fades in the morning’s light
as a dream fades into non-memory
and I wake without sleeping wondering
why I’m drinking tea, asleep.

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