I take the evening
Imprison it for my own
I drink deep intoxication
Feel the fire of my rage
Build against the dying day
Against my own failings
I spit curses and swear
To the night the silence
Of which it seems
Always comes hand in hand
I create obscene lines
Vile disgust at the world
The politicians and media
The work place management
I wish I could retire rich
And do without it all
I drink again another bottle
Cast to the floor broken
I curse again my voice rising
Can you hear me now
I stare angry at the moon
Though it has done nothing
And is beautiful
Perhaps I hate it's beauty tonight
Perhaps it's just the drink
It doesn't matter right now
I just need to do
Exactly what I'm doing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The work place management gives broad ideas with muse of feelings. An amazing poem is brilliantly shared here...10
Thank you I didn't know how this poem was going to write out when I had the title and opening line but I am pleased with the result