He fell on his face
The soil he embraced
The blood from on his nose
As red a rose
Reminded him of his life
His children and wife
Whom he left without a single cent
Knowing on him, they all depend
Women call him a hunk
And he feels like a man
Especially when he`s drunk
Yet, they call him a pillar
Neglecting his family for the taste of his beer
In his life the history
Of alcohol is no mystery
For lack of moral intelligence
He intoxicates himself
And calls it his inheritance
Not realizing the present hostility
Between him and his wife
Just the other day
He almost stabbed her with a knife
Demanding the food he never bought
Abusing his life
Disconnecting himself from God
She cries every single night
Her silky soft skin covered with bruises
Her life is a ship
In an ocean of alcohol she cruises
This is a tragedy that repeats and repeats and repeats.
I was caught up in it once, and I can never repair the damage.
At a minimum we should never mistake a drunk for a hunk.
Thanks for this reminder.
One would do well to teach young women to avoid such scoundrels. But for some reason, women are attracted to them, only to fall into the trap of abuse that both weak men and strong alcohol bring.
Your poem, if it gets these men to think, is a winner.
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
This is my personal inspirational book of poetry. It contains many poems written for family, friends, and relevant life situations. Hopefully you will find some that will encourage and inpsire you in whatever arena you are found in your circle of l
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I was caught up in it once, and I can never repair the damage.
At a minimum we should never mistake a drunk for a hunk.
Thanks for this reminder.
Your poem, if it gets these men to think, is a winner.
Ron