Sense Deprivation

"Cafe Central in Vienna" by Andreas Praefcke
(Wikimedia)

As I sit and ponder in this armchair

I can't begin to describe each feature

That surrounds me in this room

Where a gray light glimmers down

Upon my shoulders.

A faint reflection of a tree

Grows upon a mirrored screen

Just behind my self portrait,

It's limbs extend beyond

The spaces that I stand upon.

Before me are mysterious people

Whose chatter I'll listen to;

Not because I deem it alright,

But because it is a subtle delight

To listen to their random words.

Above me I hear the faintest sound

Of a chiming piano key;

It is relaxing and nearly silent

But when one truly listens

It is more than just salient.

Machines relentlessly chatter:

The grinding of coffee beans,

Or the sputter of milk and creamer,

Perhaps even the ice locker,

But they are noises just the same.

In the distance is a foreign land

Full of scripts and discounted mags

Just waiting to be uplifted

From their dust covered shelves

And read, to the bitter end.

People seem to come and go

But what they don't know

Is that I sit here and wonder

What to do in mid-Decmeber?

In a small town cafe.

When my senses are weakened

From the cold sickness

That lingers in my every nerve

Yet my creative spark lingers

To paint a beautiful picture.  

Question: "Have you ever found it hard to write when sick?"