The Lonely Old Junkie From Maraetai
The hillside stained
in bloody mindlessness
yet nurtured with tender care,
tend heady dreams
as yet to be invented,
besotted, many virgin souls
fragmented. An awesome
power to wield, a thousand moods
to create, the sluice gate of an
intellect to be prised, an
ambiguous logic to flounder,
an infringement upon an open mind!
So! The needle to be honed
for the vein that waits, each
day a constant need of the
magic potion. ‘Hallelujah’ he
conveys a wealth of empathetic
emotion. For here he stands
at the source of temptation,
if only to taste his habitual bloom
those with heads held high, swaying
to a different tune. For he knows
he’ll never make it to heaven, but
he’s as sure as hell been to
paradise, for this place ‘He swears’
the gateway to truth and sincerity!
To be cast out
from this rapturous spell, his
body enraged, for the sunrise
to him spawns the fire of ‘Hades,’
flames that ignite his troubled world.
Yet his earthly script he must
fulfill, if only to stumble, along
society’s narrow vision, grope at
its desolation, fondle its misery.
‘God! Give him strength, to return
to his promised land.
His! Paradise. The means
to escape the foundations
of a misspent youth!’
© Harry J Horsman 1994
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