The Whiskey Poem by John Kipling Lewis
The Whiskey
I used to drink myself to sleep.
I found comfort in the bottle.
I remember the taste on my lips,
the curve in my hand and
I still feel the burn in the pit of my stomach.
The whiskey sings a sweet low song and
I can only hold my empty glass, sing along.
I can only hold an empty glass and sing along.
3. Poems about alcohol are a dime a dozen and this one says nothing new and has no original details whatsoever.
Comfort in a bottle a way to escape this life. Been there, sharing my sorrows with crown royal. Good write Patricia
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 7:45:52 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Wow......what a sobering poem. I think it is perfect the way it is. It's a poem to pass around at AA meetings, on a little piece of paper. It is what I would say could be a helpful poem. Good Job! ! ! ! !