The Alcoholic

He found a dream 
He could speaketh to. 
Therein lay a soul,
That which illuminates
His heart of coal.  

Their sight collided
All sense of time, vanished 
Stood there he froze, mesmerised. 
Those angelic eyes
A new world, materialised. 

Enthused he became,
Right from the first time. 
As words proceedeth forth those ruby lips,
They came in semblance of poetry and rhyme.

His mundane canvas,
She would painteth
With most vibrant rays. 
Drawing nostalgic tales
And wishes of future days.

But like the sun that would set
So is this dream state of his. 
And like the sun that would rise again
Alas, this dream did not. 

And now,
She is not more but a remnant 
of his midnight thoughts. 
Intoxicating him to drowse
Like a vintage Bordeaux wine,
Leaving nothing..
but hazy love lines.







“Who’s the person you’ve been writing about?”

“Just my fantasies.”



9 thoughts on “The Alcoholic

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