On Drink

I drink like I’m a bastard,

Some say it suits me thus,

A soldiers quarrel with hard knock life,

And feelings bordering gluttonous,

Yet inside of me the clown refrains,

Let’s sorrow evolve its incubus,

Gives depressive daily states of pain;

The tears that bleed for all of us!

Michael J Waite 2nd September 2014.

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