Every Full Stop

I am laying here thinking about the way coffee

forces it’s way through thick stone 

into thin morning air,waiting for the early risers.

I am drawn back to a world of steam and grey

commuters,where warmth surrounds us,

clouding cold hearts and dreamless mornings.

There are days and weeks and months and years

like this,but many more which are not.

Hard to say if we are punctured or just punctuated.

Laying here thinking about coffee and steam never

solved anything. Coffee is a brief fix and steam fades,

but every full stop is one more chance to start again.

Tony Noon

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

The last line is the key to the poem. Coffee and commuting are just metaphors. The topic is not giving up.