The day is warm, but snow won’t melt,
It seems the world’s still holding on.
And once again, as I have felt,
The muse has called, and so I’m drawn.

My heart is pounding, loud and fast,
As if I’m drunk, though I’m not sure.
Just six black coffees - much too vast -
Have left me shaken to the core.

Don’t drink like this - it’s not too wise,
And loving? Worse - it’s risky game.
A friend of mine insists and tries
To prove that life’s a pointless aim.

But no, I swear - it’s worth the fight:
To drink, to love, to laugh, to burn.
Don’t drag yourself through life in spite -
Live fully, boldly at each turn!

Or else, before you blink, it’s gone,
And then it’s time to play your part.
You’ll mourn the chances lost, withdrawn,
But death will grip your weary heart.

So live, and when the final page
Is read, you’ll smile and boldly say:
“I drank, I loved, I felt my rage -
And lived it all, in my own way!”

Still, nature’s richer - look around!
This day’s too bright for poet’s strife.
My lines, I know, don’t quite astound -
But who am I? Not poet of life.