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 ?

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