Addiction
I have yet to understand,
or even comprehend
Those whose lives
depend upon alcohol.
What actuates their thirst?
I watch as they stroll leisurely toward
That lethal dose;
From friend to foe they transform,
Becoming rude and obnoxious,
Slurring, they speak ambiguously;
Eyes that are distant,
Unable to focus,
All the same they
find their way to the well.
I have watched at they count out penny's
And borrow from others;
They deprive themselves
of the essentials of life,
Love, family, and friends;
Is this what is meant by,
‘A means to the end’?
Oh the price they do pay for slow death.
Reaching into their pockets,
not the pocket of existence,
But the pocket of nonexistence,
Faded beyond any kind of recognition,
Like the presidents on green monies,
wadded, and washed by time.
Their clothing, not necessarily in disarray,
Adorned in suits, uniforms, robes,
Found under the gloom of night
Sleeping in alleys,
Doorways, along the byways;
Some take up residence in suites.
I remain puzzled by their motivation;
Their desire for numbness confounds me;
Lost courage found?
Who were their role models?
When did it begin?
What peers were they trying to impress?
What about their children,
and their children's children?
Whose alter are they placed upon?
Do they even believe in God?
Janice Bumbalough Marler
poetrybyjan@nc.rr.com
Fall of 1991
By dolores39
© 2008 dolores39
(All rights reserved)
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