Once a disciplined man, once a solemn teetotaler,
Now an inebriate, with ever some wine or scotch in the glass.
Hide like everyone does from the judgemental eyes,
Of people from the past.

Do you think about some as you smoke up,
About your role in their lives, about your part,
And ever wonder if they think back about you fondly,
Those people from your past?

Or they, whom you have failed or lost miserably,
From whom you severed your ties and tore yourself apart,
And ever wonder if they think back about you longingly,
Those people from your past?

From sorrow and solitude, it is hard to evade
Whichever the cycle of life, whatever the cast.
Same are the legends, same are the tragedies,
And this one wouldn’t be any different nor would be the last.

© The Flowers of Art

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