We are Addicted rather Proud Addicts
We are addicted to the moment
Those shiny raindrops spread on the soil
Erupting a smell so heavenly
That an overdose may never be regretted.
We are addicted to that smoke
Dancing above the cup of strong coffee.
That fragrance of freshly grounded coffee beans
Blended with the rainy moisture
That intoxicates the soul.
We are addicted to those papers
That hold the lives in the shape of words
And we are addicted to those words
That creates a world called a book.
We are addicted to the smoggy winters
For their air of loneliness,
That makes the breathing difficult
But the chilling cheeks warm the heart
And clear the vision and goals.
We are addicted to the sad autumns
Depicting funerals of leaves and flowers
Yet the proud fall reminds,
That death can be graceful.
We are addicted to the Invisibles.
The Soul, the Senses, the Solitude.
The soul that is the invisible light
Enlightening the senses.
And the senses so harmonized
That solitude is inevitable.