On Drink

 

I drink like I’m a bastard,

Some say it suits me thus,

A soldiers quarrel with hard knock life,

And feelings bordering gluttonous,

 

Yet inside of me the clown refrains,

Let’s sorrow evolve its incubus,

Gives depressive daily states of pain;

The tears that bleed for all of us!

 

Michael J Waite 2nd September 2014.