Poems

Coffee shop philosopher, deep in thought, But life’s still passing, no answers caught. You’ve got your theories, your existential dread, But the truth is, you’re just over-caffeinated instead.

Coffee shop philosopher, lost in your brew, But what’s the point when nothing’s new? You’re chasing shadows, in your intellectual haze, But outside the window, it’s just another day.

Coffee Shop Philosopher – Lost in Your Brew Coffee shop philosopher, lost in your brew,But what’s the point when nothing’s new?You’re chasing shadows, in your intellectual haze,But outside the window, it’s just another day.

Coffee Shop Philosopher – Put Down the Cup Coffee shop philosopher, put down the cup,It’s time to wake up, and finally grow up.Life’s not in the books, or the quotes you recite,It’s in the living, in the wrongs and the right.

Coffee Shop Philosopher In the cradle of steam and the scent of fresh brew,You sit in the corner, thoughts stirring anew.Your fingers clasp tight round a cup stained with rings,As you grapple with life and the vast, unseen strings.Latte foam rises, the barista’s mistake,A metaphor, perhaps, for the give and take.Your mind wanders wide, from

Coffee Shop Philosopher – Deep in Thought Coffee shop philosopher, deep in thought,But life’s still passing, no answers caught.You’ve got your theories, your existential dread,But the truth is, you’re just over-caffeinated instead.

Caught in the Fluorescent Glow Caught in the fluorescent glow between snacks and deals,Reality strikes with the force of a shopping cart’s wheels.Here I am at forty, staring down aisles of escape,Wondering if youth can be reshaped by tape or drape.Each item on the shelf whispers promises it can’t keep,A sports car in miniature, too

Caught in the fluorescent glow between snacks and deals, Reality strikes with the force of a shopping cart’s wheels. Here I am at forty, staring down aisles of escape, Wondering if youth can be reshaped by tape or drape. Each item on the shelf whispers promises it can’t keep, A sports car in miniature, too

Apocalypse of the mundane, it’s a slow decay, No fire and brimstone, just a shitty day. It’s the minor stuff that wears you thin, But you’ve got to fight, if you’re gonna win.

Apocalypse of the mundane, it’s your daily grind, But you’ll rise above, leave it all behind. So laugh it off, it’s just life’s way, Of keeping you grounded, come what may.