AN: Another poem here. Thank you for taking the time to read this. The ironic thing about this poem though is that I don’t drink and yet I’m writing about that.Great if someone reviewed, to all those out there who likes to drink, does this poem connect with anyone of you?
Round and round the roulette goes,
will it stop or will it blow?
Slipping into oblivion,
it’s time to drink like the Russians and let go.
It’s time to drink your worth,
and bet your all in this one barrel,
a single shot,
and you might finally get to rot.
Heave ho and we go,
drinking till the sun goes down,
drinking our fill till we frown,
this is the night that we will live.
And round and round the barrel goes,
silvery shimmer swirling within,
this is the night where we live till our fullest,
a night with no more sorrows.
4 comments
To me, it works on two levels
One is what the poem actually expresses, yielding a cessation of sorrows through drinking
The other is a sub textual message. The message that, every time you take a ‘drink’, that’s really a click of the gun. Each time leads you closer to your extinction, your obliteration. And eventually…BANG.
True. The words like shot and barrel could mean either booze or gun. Thank you for commenting and you got my hidden meesages in my work. Once again thank you.
11/10 – Shor’, shar’ and to the point. Well done, OP.
I’ve tangoed with the Ruskie on one occasion, I can’t say it’s a good experience or the sort, but you get lost in the moment – in between the liquor and spinning revolver, you get a sense of life truly hanging in the balance.
…followed by a splitting headache and craving for chocolate the next morning.
Ah, that’s a first to be able to hear such a story. Wasn’t in a right frame of mine when I was typing this , was imagining this scene in my head , a personality that is the exact opposite if the real me who’s a coward.