My Poison
The dominant strains that run through my veins
render it hard to ascertain
where alcohol and nicotine sin
ceases, desists and I begin.
A criminal trend to miscomprehend
why I swig yet another one ‘round the bend,
glass in hand, oblivion to seek,
drowning along the whisky creek.
If you jerked the chain linked to my brain
and trod on the shakier side of sane,
you could be me for one lost weekend
and walk in the shadows that nightly descend.
This fleeting release, this creeping disease
in a quest for eventual quiet and peace;
vacation, a respite from living with me,
my comfort, my poison, my cup of tea.
The chatter of noises and barbarous voices
are slain in a hailstorm of cul-de-sac choices;
lie dead on a beer-mat, quiet as a lamb,
if I drink therefore I am.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment