I look
at the unopened bottle
and grasp
with internal demons
who entice me
to unleash
inner constraints; for
its only one drink,
just to calm the edge
between reason
and unbridled sanity.
To take that first step,
off the edge
of the precipice
is akin to drowning
in quick sand
with the life line
out of reach.
Is that really so bad?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Addiction or habbit of any kind, obsessional tendencies etc, I wonder if I didn't do this would I be doing that instead.O.C.D. etc, etc.I often wonder if there are links here between any of these.Not sure.This is a thought provoking write and put in a subtle way.Great write Love Duncan