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kate
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« on: January 14, 2012, 01:35:53 PM » |
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A Reformed Drinker’s Lament
Long, long the day, and longer still the night,
Dark hours pass slowly and demons reappear;
Soul-spirit growing, bottled spirits out of sight,
Each day, each hour, each minute filled with fear.
The bottle seemed a true and trusty friend:
Grieving its loss appears to some insane,
Yet grief it is that colours those first days,
Remembrances of pleasure and of pain.
Trembling and sweats and nightmares, insanity of mind
Slowly recede as the days turn into weeks;
Memory returns, and skin’s grey-ghostly hue’s
Replaced by clearer eyes and rosy cheeks.
No longer waking in a stranger’s bed,
Nor wondering where this week’s wages went:
Money’s for bills and food, not gin,
No use regretting the thousands that were spent.
Slowly, so slowly a new life is built:
Learning new ways of coping with reality and truth:
Making new memories to treasure and to hold,
Recapturing the wonderment of youth.
Abstinence astonishes with daily gifts,
Dull grey of drunkenness replaced by colours bright;
No longer raging or in deep depression’s slough,
Walking in Nature’s beauty and the Light.
Yet in the midst of all that’s good and clean and true,
Lament, not alcohol, but all the years
You hurt your children, spouse, colleagues and friends,
Like me, my friend. Lament. Then wipe away your tears.
©Kate Ashforde 13.01.2012
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