I expected my life of days would be fairly calm.
Only the enlightened ancestors would follow me.
I’d mimic them and love and sing their favorite psalm.
Instead this mystic mind does not escape blood’s history.
Where can we go where it won’t be in our sight?
Why do we swallow enticing liquid until blind and then insane?
Terror incinerates every cell and sweats thick human fright--
As ninety proof storms of liquor reign.
Repeat, repeat, repeat the ritual of hell, while lips pray but know,
That the incremental burning flavored sips will win.
Stop! Wait! And shake and wake and gasp and sob, “Death let me go!”
Release, please, relief please, release, take out the liquid knife.
Save this non believer even if it means, feeling.
Copyright © Tamra Amato | Year Posted 2019
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment