Poetry, like a cup of tea

An inside of a rose, So fragile and smooth. My thoughts are enclosed, but down on paper it soothes. An escape from reality, a bandage over my wounds. With a fresh hot cup of tea, the herbs tingling like diamonds. The lingering taste of a moment, the bittersweet cuts of the past. My poems built like a monument, asking for every word to last. The feeling of pain and rapture, I will record and engrave. My emotions fully captured, on the paper I will save.