In Japan they say you were born from eyelids too tired to stay open- that you were ripped out from a monk’s face intent on meditation. He dropped your seed- to the ground And you sprouted soft green leaves and fragrant white petals encasing a tuft of gold. With every sip, you (mystical brew) tingle my taste buds steaming the aroma of serenity that when inhaled, brings hope; hope of staying awake long enough to finish a cup, long enough to live through the sometimes green, white, red, and black waves of being, nothing more (because nothing is) as complex or as simple as a cup of tea.