The bar stinks of rancid smoke and despair,
My hands tremble like the leaves on autumn trees.
Years poured down the waste pipe, empty chairs,
I ran through life and stumbled to my knees.
Bottles lined like soldiers, poised to fight,
Nights blurred into mornings, aching, raw.
I tumbled through the streets in neon light,
A body bruised, a spirit under claw.
Then daylight came with quiet I could taste,
The river hummed, the gutters washed my mind.
I learned to pause myself, to slow my pace,
To leave the bar, the bottles, and the grind.
And now I walk where summer shadows bend,
A man reborn, my old self at its end.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 29th, 2026 08:20
- Comment from author about the poem: I recently posted a new long-form poetry reading featuring a sneak peek from my upcoming book, Searching for Nod. Watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4sfxAFCf-I 📖 You can also find all my books on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Thomas-W.-Case/author/B0CL2RKDGX — Thomas W. Case
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 112
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Comments9
In true sonnet form this one pulls itself through the mundane dirt of the day and promises better with its finish. Well written my friend
Thank you.
You are most welcome
A new one now begins...
Yes. Thanks.
Excellent write, Thomas! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you.
Powerful work.
Thanks.
Never seen you in sonnet form before Thomas. The message/explanation comes through loud and clear. In fourteen lines quite the journey.
I've written a few. Thanks, Dave.
Good to have Sunshine at the end.
A Fine Write.
Thanks.
I feel you brother. Raw
Thank you. I appreciate it.
drowning to the depths of despair, and then rising up again with fresh resolutions and intentions and finding oneself again - fabulous
Thank you, my friend.
Ahhhh, virtue and vice. Some great writers in the 17th century wrote books about it. This write reminds me of this.
Thanks
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