Been staring out this window,
Hours passed, still staring,
Contemplating, hesitating
As my life flashes before me.
I pour another glass of life
On the rocks, served cold
Like the day's temperature;
It goes down like frostbite.
Then the flare, the warmth,
The false sense of security
Is as intoxicating as the hope that
I'm worth more alive than dead.
It's a long way down,
The bottom, the sudden stop,
The mercurial descent...
It's closing time — perhaps tomorrow.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: April 2nd, 2017 00:40
- Comment from author about the poem: This is an old one and certainly not reflective of me now. All is well, but...have you ever had one of those days, weeks, years?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments2
Good write. I do like the picture I too put granite cubes in my scotch, don't want to water it down.
Haha! Awesome! Thank you so much!
Wonderful stuff: the poem as well as the whisky.
No ice, served at room temperature with a splash of wate, . (unless its a very mild one). and then all the volatiles are released.. Beautiful smell, beautiful taste.
Thanks for reading and sharing! Agreed!
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