His Coffee

His coffee was not pretty

It lacked warmth and flavor

Dripped straight from the machine

With nothing much to savor

Yet the people deemed it refuge

Hurried in from all the snow

Their weary cheeks shone red

Calling children close in tow

The coffee beans were crushed

Sold to them in mugs

Comfort came with bodies

And comfortable it was

They nodded through their drinks

And spoke of times they know

Perhaps that is why the silence fell

When he felt the heat of the first blow

Worry swept the room

Panic took a moment more

And when the mugs began to shake

Bodies piled at the door

The ground around him sank

And he watched the fire rise

His refuge was now empty

There was nowhere left to hide

The cloud of cold was gone

Smoke followed every breath

Windows shattered over him

Yet he waited for the rest

At long last the flames engulfed the door

The ground began to rip

The walls came down in fury

And he took another sip