Gratitude

Gratitude,
you rise with the morning steam,
you whisper from the humble cup
that warms my hands.

You are the quiet architect
of this golden peace,
the unseen root
beneath every joy.

How strange…
that from the bitterness of the bean
you summon sweetness,
that from the dark earth
you draw this light.

Today I thank the simple things:
the spoon that rests,
the milk that bends into silk,
the sun leaning gently
through the window.

Each breath,
a small revolution of wonder.
Each heartbeat,
a secret offering to life.

Gratitude,
you are not thunder,
you are the pulse of rain
against the skin of the soul.
You do not shout,
you bloom.

And in this moment,
as the world hurries toward its forgetting,
I remember:
to love what is already here.