Monday, April 18, 2011

Piety Hollow (a poem)

Piety Hollow

((The Old Bent Drunkard) (a poem))

Among the streets, in small framed houses

Stumbled an old bent man, far gone in drink,

In Piety Hollow

And here he lived, slept and wept. His mind

Leaped, back to those far-off days, as he’d

Wandered the streets, of Piety Hollow

Staggering, and begging with no regrets, he

Had left dreams behind him, unmet; lips that

Touched liquor, with no sentiment

Now leering into creepy faces, weary and wet

Restlessly he was dying, in his submerged world

In Piety Hollow

For all that it is worth—he was a fragile soul

Cursed; stumbling along in dingy halls, in rooms

With discolored curtains and windows

…snarling screams, from unknown voices

Passed lighted saloons, not to be remembered,

In Piety Hollow

His legs now weak, and wobbly—with gratitude,

He sought long sleep, in a sea of diluted faces

Hoping to find peace …

“There is much to life,” he thought “in this world.

Too bad, I just couldn’t find it, here

In Piety Hollow”

No: 2929 (4-18/2011)