Finally a decent poem

Cinnamon Silence

A silence has settled around me,
like cinnamon sprinkled over coffee;
A mask worn by the bitter brew.

I shall hide behind silence—this slow death,
as change battles within me. The dust of
burnt incense blows away, unresisting.

Fevers rage inside me, burning into each other,
like the sun sears the surface of the sea—a
mirror reflecting the intensity of fiery revolution.

I am as fragile as burnt incense and I ask,
“How will I survive this furious change,
cloaked in a veil of cinnamon silence?”


~~~~~~
The opening stanza came to me as I added cinnamon to a pot of bland coffee. The incese image arrived when I cleaned off a burner and watched the incense break apart.