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Too much beer

To drink is to destroy
The worthless body
We are all makers of our own fates
And where we finally end
Our desolate pitiful lives
Is where our destiny lies ;-
But within ourselves
We are but dough
And life a oven of heat
To bake us permanently
After our beaten shape
And how horrible it would be
To live without poetry
And die
As a fly
Swatted on a table
To eternal rest
An utter spot of mess.

Poetry by vidura rambachan
Read 94 times
Written on 2023-04-01 at 12:34