The Shell
The sterile embrace
Of my favorite haunt
A place where I once found solace
Now lies barren, a hollow shell
The ghosts of remodeling's touch
Still linger on each surface cold
No worn padded booths to cradle me
In their faded charm, now lost and old
But slowly, the regulars return
Strangers creep in, like shadows on the wall
Characters too, with stories untold
And the tension starts to ease, like a well-earned breath
My words, going stagnant, start to flow
Like a rusty faucet creaking back to life
The coffee's still not quite right
But the taste of it is sweet, like nostalgia's bite
The music trickles out, a faint whisper
Of what once was, what could be again
From the back, past grinding and steam
A muffled melody that seeps into my brain
And then, outside, the sun rises slow
Behind cloudy skies, in somber hue
Like the mood of this place, still finding its way
Back to what it once was: a haven for the lost, the found, and me.
