How Many Graves Can You Dig Before Your Own? Poem by Uriah Hamilton

Too many difficult days accumulate
Like weeds in an otherwise pleasant field;

Every heartache becomes a hammer
And drives depression into the soul like a nail;

Some friends alleviate the sorrow like a balm
And others gently kiss your cheek like Judas;

I dream of a drunken avenue in the summer
Where children play and cars move slowly and sweet
Like a merry-go-round and no one is unhappy.

I want only to toast the departing of sunlight at dusk
And have the moonlight pour my next glass of wine;

I seek to dance for awhile and then welcome oblivion,
I cherish the day when mirrors will no longer take notice of me.