Rose Tea
Words are like the weather They can be cozy as cashmere Bundled up The heat from the fire Melts the mountain chill Boots packed with ice crunch and squeak Steam wets my upper lip and dews my nose as I breathe into my bone china teacup with my favorite rose tea- Swirling a tea bag is the perfect repetitive movement For a fiddler like me But words, like the weather, Can be treacherous too A monsoon in the desert evening Winds howling, walls heaving Against a high-pitched squall That yearns to pull the earth from its roots Thunder bellows Lightning dazzles the night sky Unless, of course, You happen to be the thing In between the lightning and the ground A scorned ego has no friends only foes So vengeful a god who scolds at random As the sky cannot bear fury a second longer Electricity rips the atmosphere And tonight, anyone could die by lightning strike