Early Hour Memory Poem by C M Rice

Holding us all from those young days,
Through early school and popular phase,
One only admits the fact, so subtle,
Staring down another empty bottle,

I hear the hand tick tock today,
Thinking to myself to get away,
Away from this, that is always here,
This clock it matches my dropping tear,

To see before me what I have done,
Now with age and when one was young,
It hurts me, kills me, deep all inside,
Although I still seem quite alive,

Drink and drink and drink again,
Does nothing but it drives my pen,
Smoke and smoke and smoke, I smoke,
With memories my vision choke,

I dropp my pen with sudden rage,
It’s got to me, this time, on page.