February 24, 2012

Vintage














A headache followed
in the morning,
years in the making,
like a vintage wine
aging in my cellar.
I once raised
a fragile glass,
made it darkly mine,
'til it carried a bitter taste,
drunk to ease my pain,
though I knew
a thousand bottles
could not be downed in time,
drinking the cup
filled for me at birth,
only when the cup was dry
did I know its worth.