The Drunkard

He lolls by the bus stop,
Waiting.
Torn coat of no use,
The freezing breeze must hate him.
Clothes, loosing grip on each limb
As grip was lost for him.
Squandering money,
Escaping the fall,
Lightening burdens,
No recall.
Smelling of drink,
Marinated in the stink.

A love forsaken,
His choice of course,
A tragic scene for passerby,
They do not succumb to his Morse.
Shall all be blissful?
Will merry he be?
Or will he face the day,
Repress pride and see?
Easier, it seemed,
To dwell in a bar,
So clinking pockets
Were lost to the jar.

"The Drunkard" they sneer,
To hear his shouts from afar,
But with their jeer
He finds little harm.
He cannot return
To his love, his dear,
No cure for this burn,
And he sheds a dry tear,
It lies too deep,
And by the bus stop he sleeps,
Silently weeps,
There he will eternally sleep.

^

Biography

Caoilinn Hughes is a teenage aspiring poet who is relatively new to the fascinating world of poetry. Age has not been a barrier for Caoilinn, as she has already received a "Western People Literary Award" for her poetry, and has been published on numerous occasions (eg: Arts West, alongside Patrick Kavanagh, and various other magazines). She recently took part in the Irish Poetry Slam Showcase, which was held in the Cellar bar in Galway, reads monthly in the Galway Arts Centre and has had her poetry put to stage. She hopes to pursue a career in drama and literature.