Echoes of Routine

At the bar where the light flickers low,

voices blend softly in a comforting flow.

Faces half-remembered, each drink tells a tale,

a refuge from life where we always prevail.

The wood is worn smooth from laughter and tears,

dragging old memories through the haze of our years.

With each glass I raise, I’m lost in the throng,

a chorus of stories where I feel I belong.

Yet as night stretches on, a shadow creeps near,

echoes of laughter now laced with a fear.

Am I drowning in comfort or searching for home?

In this cycle of routine, I find myself roam.