We muddle life’s glory—that
which inspires gratitude!
We aren’t satisfied with the way
things are. So we ferment the truth
until it springs fire, the grape
alone no longer good enough!!
“Let it spoil!” Yes, let it rot—then
we take the poison and waste it not.
We mix it around, get high, build
Babel from the ground, the apple
and the orange—nothing compared
to altered states, it takes us away
we think to another place of love.
Meantime the Devil has us burrowed
in our drink, so much so that we lose
the power to think. Wide is destruction’s
path, and we are on it when we steal
God’s righteous wrath! We say
“it’s okay. I deserve to be this mad.”
We justify burning cells in our brain;
alcohol distilled to kill the hard part
of being alive, missing its purpose
to perfect its diabolical roll—becoming
a false god before you look up—addicted,
we bow to the flames before many die.
Pick yourself up. Which is worse, the drug
or the anger bug? When not drinking,
the alcoholic lashes out. We take it as
Christians, turn the other cheek.
It is tempting to wrath back at wrath,
but it does no good, two wrongs never
adding up to Right, the only path a tough
one into the forgiving moon of night.
Sorrow sinks, the sunrise brews on our
worst fears. Breaks suddenly through!
Feeewww. It’s good to resist the devil.
But first, we must know who he is.