Monday, March 9, 2009


The tulip shaped goblet,
Crystal clear in it's simplicity,
Offers its blood red liquid 
For my embrace.  I wince at 
The distorted reflection in 
The glass, while my lips are
Parched in thirsty anticipation.
The mind spins with justification of
"Just this one", and "what possible harm"?
Questions asked thousands of times,
Giving way to the denial gnawing in my gut.
The glass seems to wink at me, a taunting
Recognition of the agony churning within,
Sweat beginning to stream down my cheek.
The "tapes" continue their dull refrain,
The rose colored elixir waiting to be savored,
But not by me, not by me, ever!

1 comment:

  1. Your poetry is very evocative. It's a point of view (sixty something) I haven't heard that often. Thanks for sharing