On the last drop he always whined
though the urn was ever imbibed,
through the gory days and the comic nights
The Liquid flowed and overwhelmed
the contents of an in-content inveterate swine,
with profanity and love alike
Each devour meant more than he fathomed
assimilating the colour as part of his soul,
and play did he with the opulence of the malt
He ritually elated with the hang
hallucinating through the initial bedlam,
condescending in the surreal delight
He looked across through the glass
preoccupied with the Sunshine in the dark,
the dew drops embellishing in the lark
The golden liquid now felt like paradise
on a burning throat and an undiscerning eye,
a serene heart and an unobtrusive mind
He is now in a tranquil state
riding the rivers and flying the gates,
to languid away the abysmal fate.
1 comment:
But of course..it had to be the malt !!
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