I love to drink coffee, 
Every morning 
Sometimes in the afternoon
I go to sleep at night,
Looking forward 
To that bitter brew
The next day
It doesn’t matter
What, I eat or drink
I must have 
That cup of joe
I grind my beans,
For the freshest taste
They say, 
Whoever they are,
I don’t know them,
Yet, I believe them 
Each morning rising,
Following the same ritual
Then sipping the dark liquid
Thinking 
What if there was
No coffee, 
There was only tea,
Gawd forsake us,
No coffee, no reason
To wake up, to watch
The rising sun
If that day ever comes,
My death will wait,
Patiently
For the setting sun.
                        

Pitter patter piddle
My life is on the edge of middle,
Dripping slowly
More sand than blood
Away from dreams
Those youthful dreams
That now seem lost,
Never to be obtained

Pitter patter piddle
My life is at the end of middle,
I reach to stop,
Its ebbing tide
Trying to grip 
The receding line,
Only to watch it
Slipping through my fingers.

Pitter patter piddle
My life is past the middle,
Should I sit idly,
Watching it slip by
Returning nothing 
But the sorrow
Of nothing ventured
Nothing gained.

Pitter patter piddle
What’s beyond the middle,
Should I even wonder,
Just be satisfied,
Accept it’s over,
There is no more and
Watch it breathe,
Its last breath.