He had had some too many, lying in his vomit in the rains...
What is left of you, when all is finished
and the bottle empty, and you lie there in the gutter
vomiting your anguish and self-pity
forlorn and deserted by all living creatures
that you once thought were your friends,
while now you see your only friends among the dead,
the only people that can never be unkind to you,
the only ones who don't insult you and depress you,
all those people, who are only sympathetic when they sleep,
while bullies rule the earth and drive it mad unto destruction
like all those responsible demented politicians
who in fact are chief accountable for this old planet's state of health
while they are those who get away with fortunes
and escape the course of justice,
while you lie there weeping in the gutter
with the rain down-pouring on you ruthlessly and endlessly,
the drunkard crying desperately all his guts out for the world
and for this strayed humanity that never can get right again.
But still, there must be something left.
Oh yes, you still will be insane enough a fool
to go on living and of loving
although no one in the world deserved it
except you yourself, the undermost of underdogs,
who never will stop loving any human being
from your accurate perspective from the gutter.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 424 times
Written on 2007-01-05 at 23:23
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Ode to a loving drunkard
What is left of you, when all is finished
and the bottle empty, and you lie there in the gutter
vomiting your anguish and self-pity
forlorn and deserted by all living creatures
that you once thought were your friends,
while now you see your only friends among the dead,
the only people that can never be unkind to you,
the only ones who don't insult you and depress you,
all those people, who are only sympathetic when they sleep,
while bullies rule the earth and drive it mad unto destruction
like all those responsible demented politicians
who in fact are chief accountable for this old planet's state of health
while they are those who get away with fortunes
and escape the course of justice,
while you lie there weeping in the gutter
with the rain down-pouring on you ruthlessly and endlessly,
the drunkard crying desperately all his guts out for the world
and for this strayed humanity that never can get right again.
But still, there must be something left.
Oh yes, you still will be insane enough a fool
to go on living and of loving
although no one in the world deserved it
except you yourself, the undermost of underdogs,
who never will stop loving any human being
from your accurate perspective from the gutter.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 424 times
Written on 2007-01-05 at 23:23
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
