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An aquaintance of mine who is an alcoholic was writing his second book and asked me if I would write a poem for him. We talked for a couple hours and I took notes. The following poem is the result. I don't know if he ever finished his book. He was quite satisfied with the poem. This was not my experience, it was his.

I Have No Thoughts That Warm Me
I have no thoughts that warm me.
The spirit has been gone too long
from the face staring back at me,
the bottom of an almost empty glass.
I take another swallow
to fill the quiet hollow
but the empty feelings always seem to last.
I could never stand those staring eyes
that always seem to criticize
and never take the time to understand.
The ones that call me names
as if I were to blame
for the bitterness that controls my hands.

vern.silver wrote:An aquaintance of mine who is an alcoholic was writing his second book and asked me if I would write a poem for him. We talked for a couple hours and I took notes. The following poem is the result. I don't know if he ever finished his book. He was quite satisfied with the poem. This was not my experience, it was his.

I Have No Thoughts That Warm Me
I have no thoughts that warm me.
The spirit has been gone too long
from the face staring back at me,
the bottom of an almost empty glass.
I take another swallow
to fill the quiet hollow
but the empty feelings always seem to last.
I could never stand those staring eyes
that always seem to criticize
and never take the time to understand.
The ones that call me names
as if I were to blame
for the bitterness that controls my hands.

why did you do this for your acquaintance. doesnt he have enough problems already without your poem?