The Mystery in a Hackneyed Ballad

The mystery in a hackneyed ballad

unfailingly eludes me.

Without my own perspective

love tastes as bitter as my coffee. 

His kisses are the sugar,

his script is the cream;

In my years the desperation

is the mug, so it seems. 

Vaporous heat thaws the winter on her hands

and brings her comfort from the cold.

Following frozen days are filled with coffee,

just like others who fit the mould. 

As the green tide of grasses roll northward,

steaming sips become sparse.

Her lovely lipstick only kisses the cup

whose caffeine has become her force.

With the sun at zenith and the early light,

there are more to her mornings than coffee.

Wanderlust will take her to Rome, to Paris,

Daybreak celebrated with tea and biscotti.

Among her travel the leaves have flamed,

now the earth grows crucially older.

One morning she'll wake to a chill,

and ache for coffee when days get colder.

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

As with the form and structure of this theme...play out in the lines...you indeed start off with an expresso in the first two stanzas and continue the flow as I read your lines...the finish puts forth the symbolism you convey to wrap this verse...

[Dominique Lambright]

I like how you were able to surround your emotions around the idea of coffee and you kept it consistent throughout. Really good.

[Justin]

This is excellent and I thought last 2 lines were a perfect way to end it

[Lucien Maier]

very nice piece. Good descriptions. I love the common theme of coffee. you pull the reader along very well.

[A. Amos]

His kisses are the sugar,
his script is the cream;
In my years the desperation
is the mug, so it seems. 

Romantically written and above lines were amazing, you're very talented:)