Best Phial Poems

Reflection in a Phial 

I look at my hands they are brown as a farmer`s, this pleases me,
although, I have no land to plough, a tractor or a mule,
a workman`s sturdy hand; all socialists should have hands that
have harvested potatoes or carrots.
I flex my muscles...

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Once more my hand clasps the vial,
trembles with its crystal cold.
my heart craves the ruby liquid within
and so once more I bring it to my lips
and drink the fiery torrent to the last

Once more my dark room dissolves
fading into nothingness
as I fly to that familiar...

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