Poem: Small Comforts

teapot

 

Small Comforts

 

The teapot sits on the table,
mostly empty,
as you sip on the pekoe orange
liquid in your cup.

The chaos has not passed.
The fear remains, the sadness
and anger is unchanged,
but for now

there is nothing but this cup of tea,
steaming, a deep orange amber
cup of comfort. Nothing but the fireplace,
crackling, nothing but gladness

for God’s small comforts
in the midst of the storms,
the moments of peace
even Satan cannot destroy.

About this poem

I learned the art of living in the moment many years ago. It has saved my soul and sanity many times. It has taught me that despite the periods of hell we sometimes live in, there are more moments of peace and simple joys than moments of pain.

But only if we grasp those moments and see them for what they are.

Tom

PS – the picture was taken at my parent’s house, on Thanksgiving day.

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