Struggling With Another Sober Summer

I could murder a pint,

quaff a cold draught,

but the cask asks more

of me than destiny dares

to deliver – and my liver

laughs in the face

of a challenge. Denied,

my pride, striding

to perform as I go riding

on the storm; and decline,

purging the urging demon,

that clichéd ‘monster in me’,

preserving, deserving

to be free. I must be me.

I must be me.  I must be me.


From the Archives: Recovery

A darkness in the spirit,

One would imbibe,

Washing away wishes,

Create a great divide,

Burning broken bridges,

Diluting diatribe,

Life was distilled, in

Whiskey, one would hide.

And memory was mystery,

(A mythological history)

Invented just to justify,

The resistance of existence,

And the chance to deny,

Until light spilled though a whisper,

Life asked me to kiss her,

Believed (BELIEVED!),

My love, she breathed,

A reason to live, to be,

One wonders, discovery,

So sweet is recovery,

Finally one feels free.




Amendment to original post.  Now nine years sober, thanks to a loving wife and four beautiful children.  Thanks to all who continue to believe.