TRAHE

The fabric of the cloth crumbles, and is regretfully discarded.

Steam from yesterday's coffee drowns my sorrow.

Memories of previous times engulf me.

There was a time of plenty, a time of waste... wanton disregard.

Then a time of need, a lack of things... crying in the streets.

The steam blurs my tears, regrets for actions of yesteryears.

For actions not done, efforts not made, advice unheeded.

I cry as I think, "There was a time"