Alcoholic

The alcoholic feels the pain Lifts the bottle to his lips again. He'd rather drink than start to feel, Cause in his soul, the demons are real. The fire rages and burns his soul Drink to forget--this is his goal. The whiskey quenches the inner voice He drinks because he has no choice. You walk by and give your head a shake All you can see is a big misake. Judging him, you fail to see The sober man that he could bBe. He never chose to drink this way-- The disease inside has had its say. Before you judge him, don't you think You should try to find what makes him drink? Your judgment traps his weary soul; Setting him free should be your goal. Before you try to sleep tonight Pray for his soul and pity his plight. May 19/17 D H Loewen All rights reserved