ON THE MORNING OF HIS WHISKY DEATH
Copyright 2013 Gordon Kuhn
Poet in the Rain Productions

The sky roof had lifted clear
Above the carpeted grass of bed
Where lay he naked in the falling rain
A place, in pain, this sad youth was led

Asleep, amid a restless dawn of death
Whose night before all hope was bled
The options coursed and could not stay
False hope found he as light daybreak fed

Which came upon him lying there
Adrift in nothingness, the pool
Where life, held back, had no sway for
Drink had found its simple way

To coat the man in forgetfulness
Of deeds for which no payment could release
His soul from arrows of his memory
And only peace of death might cure

The remorse he felt of prior days
When all was lost in mindless dues
As death did surround the found
Spent amid, churchless pews

Amid the night when not a human soul
Had come near, nor did stop and stare
Curious about the naked bundle
Birthed once years before to dare

Life to face and found the drape
That covered all leaving him empty
As if the world had committed rape
And not one did speak or act to intervene
On the morning of his whisky death.

July 15, 2013