The Craving
As a boy Charles fished on the Thames riverside
He had a songbird, a dog, but life took a slide
His father got him a dead-end job in a Scottish town
It became a vortex bringing him down.
He got married young, soon nine kids to feed
His job barely paid; how could he get freed?
He illustrated books, still not enough
If you want to restart, in that situation its tough.
He ordered goods on loan, sold them for the bottle
Urge above reason, opened up full throttle.
He raided his kid's money box, he had little choice
The craving was too strong, it suppressed that moral voice.
One night he drank wood varnish, had no money for a drink
Such crazy self-damage drove him over the brink
Got delirium tremens, for months had to crawl
Doors closed behind him, he entered hell hall.
He ended up confined in a mental home.
Hallucinations crept in, much memory gone,
Was he a victim, or would you call it his sin?
Punished beyond justice, then epilepsy did him in.
For Charle's son Arthur, fate made amends
Arthur made his own path; could back out of dead ends
He created "Sherlock Holmes" a story that still has a hold
He wanted more fame for other books, but there he stuck gold.
Maybe Charles too could have made it, was not sealed for doom
Didn't have to have ethanol carve the letters on his tomb
But the craving is strong, drugs modify the brain
Sheer willpower can't take a man off the runaway train.
Copyright ©
Gideon Oknin
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