Monday, July 26, 2010

38 years of an alcoholic brother.

by Laura Whelton

How easy to be the drunk

Eking out each day with coins

Shuffling towards another oblivion

With each waking stride.

How easy and forgotten

The long days of alcohol

Drank like a dying man with water

How easy the days

Spent doubled in pain

Vomiting nothing

But the pure torture

Of your condition.

How easy and sad

Begging at street corners

For the same coins

That last only a second

The endless walk

Of the drunk

As he staggers home

Night after lost night

Muttering dissatisfactory


To the sombre moon

Diluted by spent eyes

How easy

To wake and have a conviction

On how to spend your day

While we soldiers of discipline

Work like animals for survival.

How easy.

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