30 Day Poetry Challenge; Day 03

Unequivocal Madness

I don’t know what the vixen placed in my cup,

With her portions and grand tales,

Tales of people standing against tyranny,

Against injustice in all its parts,

But I was drained and just wanted a silent bar keep,

The type that refills my glass before my mouth thirsts,

She was insistent, threw in “thus” a couple of times as if to draw to a close the curtains to her tales,

Thus I sat and ordered my last round,

She brought it in a bigger glass I was thus convinced of my demise,

I tried to argue, she said it was on the house, if only I could bare one more tale,

So I sat and faced my pitcher of demise, before my lips could drink from the elixir,

She spoke as if possessed,

She told of a man long ago who lost his way,

Beaten and bruised by the madness of the world he occupied,

By strange Kings who put themselves before their people,

But this man was constantly lost in his glass,

Just like me, she said,

I asked what happened to this man who was just like me,

She leapt over the counter and caught my face in her hands,

She looked into me as if I were a crystal ball,

No words uttered, no blinks exchanged,

And after the longest pause, she let go turned her back to me and kept on wiping glasses,

No one remembers or cares what happened to the man,

He had a madness no portion could ever cure,

The madness of a soul with nothing left to fight for.

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