The morning sun rises,
casting golden hues on empty shelves.
A quiet sigh escapes,
as the fridge door closes,
echoing the absence.

No milk today,
a simple truth,
yet it ripples through the day.
Coffee, dark and bitter,
cereal, dry and plain,
a reminder of what’s missing.

The cat meows,
eyes wide with expectation,
but the bowl remains empty,
a silent apology.

In the stillness,
memories of mornings past,
when the world felt full,
and the milk flowed freely,
creeping into the present.

No milk today,
but life goes on,
in the small moments,
the quiet resilience,
finding sweetness in the unexpected.

I suppose it’s a good thing
That I don’t gamble
Because I would’ve lost it all
Betting on us

Shadows dance along walls
Cold, undulating fire
Threatens to suffocate
My thoughts,—I go on walks
Outside, the golden leaves
Know how to be better.

A dormant forest sees
Balance between forces,
Ever-changing seasons,
The purposeful movement
Of critters and giants.

Is the forest moral?
Wolves know moderation
Better than most of us.
My reason breaks:
Do humans still bother
With being good
These days?