I saw too many young men lose themselves in afternoon pints that transformed so easily into large whiskies, weeknight lines and weekend grams.
Motivation lost in the pre-dawn of days beginning with paracetamol and coffee blacker than the worst of moods and blitz era London skies.
Men that prided themselves on flirtations with the law and bruised knuckles.
Men that promised the world and delivered only promises.
Men waiting, waiting, waiting. Anxious to hear the sounds of their shackles falling to the floor.
Loathsome arrogance.
Misdirected prejudices.
Money buying happiness in small envelopes behind the locked doors of late night toilets.
Men riding the ethereal chemical burn.
Hot blood in their veins and nostrils stuffed with four different soils of South America.
Let them ride. Let them go.
Only three cigarettes left.
Very good. Really enjoyed.
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I’m glad you liked it! And thanks very much for your comment.
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I am so glad you liked my poem Pitiful Peter on my blog WordMusic. I bet the guy I wrote it about won’t care for it. Whaddya think?
Brent
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No worries, I really enjoyed it! I think there is a real chance that he won’t be too amused but you never know, it might be the motivation he needs to change his ways.
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