“The sting by a Bonita in the milky froth of the Sea…”
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
The Mad Drunk
The Mad Drunk
(…or, Obstinate Drunk)
Time and again during my drinking days
People hurt my eyes…
As a drunk, when awake I had little satisfaction
Beyond the drink!
Every conscious action is a moment:
A blaze in raw glare that hurts!
Sobering up was like climbing up an iron ladder,
On a ship at sea, from out of a pit:
Having a stifling: heart, head, and back;
Forever seeking long sleeps.
For so long I felt as the midmost center;
When in reality, I was just one among the many!
Drinking as miserable as it becomes,
Not to drink is simply a new and harsher misery!
Thus, one has to choose; sobriety or booze.
In time one learns s/he has entered the
Shadow Valley, and must face the truth…!
Life becomes an unbearable thing—
Here, you discover dead men do not rise,
It is where the aching weariness seeks
The sting by a Bonita in the milky froth of the
Sea water, beings one to the automatic
Instinct to want to live: give back the will for life—
Although s/he knows death does not hurt,
It was life, the pangs of life, and one knows
A decision has to be made:
Either to fall deeper into the darkness
—and that instinct I know, which at one point
Was fine with me, if I indeed had to live a life
Of a drunk! Knowing its viper like strangulation!
Or sneer at death and change my position to a
Vertical one; knowing too often, the mad drunk
Chooses the Valley Shadow.
Also knowing change has few friends, if any!
Because their decision is self-served!
So, your decision is yours alone!