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.

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