Empty Cups

A father, a child, and some tea.

The traditional shuffling of black and white pages
Echoes through the empty hall
The silent sipping of morning tea
Embraced by the cold, dark marble floor
I sit so solemnly, by your feet
Not a word needed by me
But you insist I learn
As you spread the zebra coloured paper next to me
I watch your face shrink
Into an uncanny sadness
Deep in your eyes, you’ve set your prize
I’m nothing, compared
Shadows shifting, mugs succumb to the wooden tables
Now everyone is awake, roaming all around
Noises fill the silence of the kitchen, but none fill our own
Orange mist seals the lonely sky,
One day you will grow old just like your own father
Elegantly, with the seasons, your ebony hairs will turn to snow
And father, I will never rue anything more
Than the love I hid, which hurt me so.