I thought I would post some of my poetry, as I just found an old folder with a heap in there, so I'll share a few of my favourites.
(Image/ThatBestMan.com)
He looks down at the empty glass,
reflections of his troubled past.
How much time, blurred and lost?
What of the emotional costs?
Why when small hands were near,
did he instead reach out for beer?
Back we go in the time stream,
to broken homes, shattered dreams.
To broken trust, abuse by others,
loved ones turned to cadavers.
He looks once more to the empty glass,
a life wasted in a pointless task.
The barkeeper looks and shakes his head.
Slow shamble home, fall into bed.
Morning light shines on cold pale skin.
Police Report lists, "No next of kin".