Orange Juice as a Metaphor

A sip of orange juice, once sweet as the dawn,

now turns sharp on my tongue, biting and strange,

it twists like my memories, where light used to yawn,

leaving a tang of bitterness, feeling deranged.

Once I’d pour out sunshine, now it feels like lead,

each gulp brings a question, where sweetness has fled,

that morning ritual now fraught with the weight,

as I ponder the flavors that twist on my plate.

Life served in cups with a jagged edge’s glow,

reminds me that growing means shifting the taste,

every sip echoes of time’s steady flow,

leaving me longing for sweetness laid waste.