Comforted

I sit back in my armchair,

The flames lick the air surrounding the open fire.

My aching back is embraced by the cushions,

As my book soothes my soul’s desire.

My wife works fearlessly at her canvass,

Sharing her soul, to decorate our home,

My cocoa caresses and warms my stomach,

Pleasing our senses with its sweet aroma.

My son creates and plays with his blocks,

Filling the air with laughter and song,

His happiness is enlightening,

Intoxicating our home with his sense of belong

My pen is alive with ideas from my heart,

Racing itself across my pages;

Spilling out my thoughts and ideas,

Before they are lost through the ages.

Writing gives me a sense of fulfilment,

Releasing the pressures of my day;

My pen takes a life on of its own,

Telling me what I want to say.

I sit back in my armchair,

Surrounded by love;

Comfortable in my home,

In the warmth of its hug.