Troubles at the Tavern

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  • Life
    • VerlassnTraum
    • The wounds are still fresh and unfortunately there is no lidocaine for love

    Troubles at the Tavern

    Exhilarated from your vicious tonic's weight
    I slowly poured you into a glass
    Mixed you with a little heartache and hate
    Tipped you over and swallowed my past

    Tossed aside, alone on the scarred and tattered table
    Embrace the burn within my closing throat
    gate far from easy and less than stable
    as I leave the bar, grabbing my coat

    Into the night on a cold and heartless street
    Tighten the coat around me from the cold
    and memories of you that I avoid but still meet
    This pain and alcohol, my friends of old

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    Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.

    Plato (BC 427-BC 347) Greek philosopher.

    VerlassnTraum’s Poems (24)

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