A crumb cannot sustain
no more than a man abstain
in his own right thinking
he can escape the linking
of opinion – it’s like drinking
in how it struck,
without the luck;
–
At least the bottle throws a bone,
table-scraps of joy, alone;
some people, they cry
don’t dream of heaven, but they lie:
ain’t a man that ever did die
didn’t sniff it up like cocaine–
once, the thought, even in disdain.
* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well–they’re a skilled bunch of poets, with a strong and supportive community. Enjoy!
The Waking Den 