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Saturday, 18 January 2014

To my favorite poet

In every room you enter
Every bottle of wine dies
You open many doors
Only the yours you can not find

Although you are more than great
You should call yourself a misery
If you were my lawful husband
I would throw you into piggery

It is confusing how you manage
In that state of complete drunkenness
To speak the words
Of perfect uniqueness

I am too sober
Maybe that's why
I can not find
Such a glorious rime

Of your bohemian steps
I should follow the trail
To find that beloved bar
Where you have been down and up
At exactly the same time

2 comments:

  1. You know what's really sad is that a lot of famous poets, writers, artists have issues with addictions and die so young. What a shame and waste of talent. :( I think you write just fine without having to go to a bar, Kristy :)

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    1. Yes, and lots of them attempted or committed suicide. :( Thanks Loredana, but don't worry about me, I rarely drink, and if I do it's never more than one glass a day. I just was joking about going to a bar. :)

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