In Stone
He is not considerate,
he has no heart,
and from his life,
I soon will part.
He is a drunk,
so hateful, and mean,
one of the devilish,
I have ever seen.
He prepares fine steaks,
upon his grill,
for he, and his son,
to get their fill.
After the beer,
they sit, and smile,
ignoring me,
all the while.
When I leave,
and the papers come,
he will ask himself,
what have I done.
Drunks don't change,
they live to destroy,
just like old devils,
this is their joy.
My children say run,
mom, don't hang around,
this old man that drinks,
will keep you down.
My life is a mess,
I am so alone,
and one thing for certain,
feelings can't grow in stone.
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2009
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