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.