The Drink Called Life

To be poured into a glass or savoured with every sip,

that quenches the thirst with a mere touch on the lip.

Is it sweet or floats in the sourness of lime,

opaque as a lie or the transparency of water in the glass of time ?

Sometimes a pint of invited intoxication,

sunk bit by bit in the puddle of frustration.

On my tongue a tingling sensation

or from a distance irresistable temptation ?

Whirlpool of doubts in my glass of desperation 

or vaccum in the bubbles of satiation ?

Am I the one to opt for a bottle from the shelf 

or merely the one behind the desk ?

Cant I both offer and sip away my life ?

Can I ever bridge the divide ?