The War Within

The joys and pleasures of drinking Having been asleep and submerged Re-awakened and buoyed up As a herald of the great war within Never ceasing but ravaging my soul A wave tossed to and fro by winds of wisdom and foolishness Tipsy and drowsy I stumbled fell and broken, snared and taken Bruised on my forehead and left eye A public display of folishness and blindness With no soundness in my head But wounds, bruises and putrefying sores My lofty looks were humbled and my haughtiness bowed down Instead of a sweet smell, there is a stench And in the place of a rich robe a girding of a sackcloth An honourable man famished and his multitudes dried up It is not for kings to drink wine nor for rulers to desire strong drink lest they drink and go astray and the sheep be without a shepherd I am a king and a priest for the display of the manifold wisdom Not perverseness and foolishness