The Sad Alcoholic
Worn and withered
Are his eyes
A lonely old soul, pale at heart and meagerly
Driven
Brought down so low
Worn to emptiness
Aside the sadness
He lives in his mind
A hard place to climb
Amongst the webs of his defenseless history
His lips breathe that of silence
A disease has taught him
To be unforgiving to himself
He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders
Where he smolders
In the corner of deception
Lashing out a melancholy tune
On the instruments of his soul
Should he reach out a hand?
To take command of this
Tattered life
For he knows no other way
But to find God and pray
And ask for another day
For strength
And a guiding light
That he may love again
First for himself
Copyright © Laura Mckenzie | Year Posted 2007
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