Destination home,
My room begins to spin,
Memories of amusements,
And copious amounts of Gin!

not everything was
made to last,
even the greatest warriors
and mightiest kings
bow down
to the will
of the heavens

you and i,
what we built,
it was worthy
of praise from the gods

maybe that’s why
they became angry
mere mortals
who dare create
something so beautiful,
so magnificent
mere mortals
who decided to play god

maybe that’s why
everything was taken from us
not like a thief
in the middle of a quiet night,
but in a blaze of chaos
and terror and destruction

and what we
were left with,
the ashes of
something great,
the memories of
what used to be,
and a warning
to never been forgotten

even if
what we had ended,
know that
i will wait for you
in the next life
and in every life beyond that
so that in each one,
we will create
something great again
we will be the legends
parents tell their children
we will be the ones
who defied gods
and their power

until then,
wait for me
as i wait for you
my dear pompeii,
city of my dreams,
we will meet again

Let the wind and rain on this dreary day refresh your mind, and seep into this, the very corners of your soul. That way we can drink in the storm together. Instead of our midweek coffee, hot, we'll brew this Friday morning cold, and sip until the weekend appears. Polite and unfolding, as the packet of paper and its peers, for the cream is sweet enough for the cold brew itself. And so I ask of you. Would you drink in a metaphor or two with me, just for a break? In order to take away, from the truth of day which has yet to grow but an hour old. Let the wind and rain suppress all thought, as we sit beside, in the room of old. Breaking, waiting for the will-less voice which always seems to sleer and say...get back to work you sleepy, seeping, sipping souls. Take your supposed spice coffee calling called cold brew and go.