The Divine Liquid

It was the syrup of reviving spirit not only in Greek and Rome. It created the poetic spring, flowing through the furrows of Omar Khayyam. Rhythms of the harvest dance in barrels echoed within the bottles. A cup of wine produced a Nebuchadnezzar of warm vibes. It transformed a nebbish, inspired even the necropolis. A psychosomatic solution. Man was fine with wine. The old drink of poetry is poisonous today. Its red hue is like a warning sign of the toxic spray in the vineyard. It, too, has lost its purity with humanity. First published in The Literary Hatchet (issue#28).