He is a hero
not by sibling ordinal age,
nor by fate.
He did not choose
whatever he became.
You see . . . his father drank himself
out of fortune, family, and prestige,
right into the nothingness
of the streets.
Cold and motionless,
without anyone
to claim what remained,
a city dump truck
took him to the grave.
Not just any power greater than he
but The Lord alone,
led the hero to success
and . . . away from alcohol.
Albert reads well and i know its true as I to have been along that journey and fortunately escaped before I reached a rocky end. I have just placed a poem called Alcoholic on the web. It really shook me how easily the memories of those awful days so long ago came back. Please read it when you have time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A well writ and presented tale