After your last drink
Most of your drinking buddies
Will vanish; don't mourn
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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The Sound That Carries Me
When I lie in bed, the train always finds me. The wheels slam against the tracks, loud and unforgiving, like something inside me that never learned how to rest. The horn cuts through the dark in broken intervals. Too close, too real, impossible to ignore. It drags me back to the fields of my childhood. Back when I thought life was simple. It wasn't. I just didn't have the language for how heavy it already felt. I was small, trying to survive things I didn't know how to name yet.
By Sarai Jakubczaka day ago in Poets
Comments (3)
Well wrought! And an astutely delivered piece of advice!
Yep. Pretty much. My dad used to be a big drinker and had people he'd only see...if he was drinking at the pub. Not beyond that. Well written, as ever.
Ah, ain't that the ultimate truth. Loved your Haiku!