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