⭐️☕️The morning coffee of August.☕️⭐️
Rain taps the roof tops, and bounces off the cars. (;;) Grey sky and clouds alike, the rain drips down to the floors. (;:;) stirring my newly made brew, the smoke hits the roof. Dimmed views of life, a grey covers all. (;:;) little greenery sneaks into the room, the heat rising despite such showers.
The morning coffee of August, became my favorite thing.
Rags rip and tear, coated caramel from the mud. (;;) Rags rip and tear, the same for families here. Many beautiful flowers, sold on a market (;;) flowers in bloom, and flowers still as bulbs. Many flowers sold on a market (;;) “where did baby Isha go?”
The morning coffee of August, became my comfort zone.
Grass swishing past my feet, if only the air smelt as free as I did. (;;) running through the rain, my means of a bath most days. (;;) Drifting by, Little do I notice, the troubles that lay behind. (;:;) a shout and a scream, it seems, a flower has came to wither. (;:;) a shout and a scream, the next flower (;;) is me.
The morning coffee of August, became my forgotten past.
A foreign life, I had never known the truth to. A foreign life, I came accustom to. (;;) lined up flowers, new and withering (;;) stand and seek /(;;)// a saver. (;;) Brought one buy one, every flower, will soon meet it’s end. (;:;) Bulbs glowing bright in excitement (;;) “A new home! A new home!” (;:;) all but little (;;) do they know.
The morning coffee of August, became my only memory.
Parts not used:
The heat of work, my friend collapses, (;;) “Just keep working, time is money!”
Many flowers sold on a market, many unaware of how flowers spoil (;;) when out of the mud.
Boys selling sugar, the type that dad likes. Boys selling sugar and medicine, I hope it makes daddy better.
/(;;)// brothers face becomes a memory, brothers fate becomes a tale. (;:;)
The morning coffee of August, just isn’t the same.