Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Paper bag of dreams

I've never been a fan of drinking, so much pain and suffering caused by those who look too deep into the bottle. This is a poem about alcohol and someone who did look too deep, where it took them, and what thoughts may be running through ones head, in thinking of their life and its worth.


Garbage, all of it

Take this city

It’s like the devil’s graveyard

No one wants anything to do with it

Only the worthless live here

No living at all

No death either

That would be thanked for

Life is a man’s living hell here



Suffering from any number of ailments

The body rotting on the vine

And there I am

once something

now nothing

Whiskey in one hand -

My paper bag of dreams

Today the sky is golden

And the sunrise bold blazing

Like wheat fields back home

Reminders of living

When death wasn’t a knock away

And life was hoped for

As being long and happy

Now I only wished so I could be content

With this life now