The Fuel of the Intellecutal
The rich aroma seeps through the
house before the sun
begins to creep over the horizon,
its bitter flavor washes over my tongue
and warms my body,
I feel my mind awaken,
the haze lifts,
and I am free to think.
My brain begins to whir
and my thought become more clear,
more intellectual;
without it I am trapped.
Held prisoner behind the thick curtain
of exhaustion that still plagues me after
the restless night,
unable to lift the heavy weights that
I can feel pulling my eyelids downward.
Coffee is my freedom.
This poem is about:
Me