by Seymour Nightweaver

Created on: November 24, 2011   Last Updated: November 27, 2011

A Drunkard

I saw my own friend on the ground
lying with and eating, the scattering dust
almost lifeless with a disillusioned moan
ceaselessly lamenting, over the brokenness of his heart.

A beggar now, with childish pleading eyes
dancing and limping with able-walking legs
for love till today, he still yet to know
fallen in a trap that cycling cyclones blow.

Powerful you are indeed, o father of all liquors;
Condemned you are as well, for the sin you brought in
and the same brokenness you ferment
that has drenched a rejected’s heart.

Sentimental I may, but walked away I did
for all must learn to walk, lest they refuse to grow
for drunkards would rather repeat their same tales over
than to listen to even a single word

that would free their hearts forever.

Crippled you may hopelessly be
but all must embrace dear fate
that none can forever wait for another
apart from the One who waits eternal

who would love you with all His heart
and will make you walk again
if you turn your eyes back again
and let Him remove all that clutters.

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