The drunken poet

Stephen Chinnock

10 April 2020

A certain old and decrepit
Man all but by
his use by date
Sits enveloped in aloneness
Tries to write
About the state of his mind
The world we’re living in
While contagion encircles
The whole earth

He finds himself trapped
In a labyrinth complex
Like the endless maze
On Crete in ancient times
Expecting to find the Minotaur
Around each twist and turn

Each avenue taken
Leads to exponential growth
Of dark and narrow paths
Remembering Theseus
Realising too late
He forgot to tie the string
At the door of the entrance

Where to go now
Seems like descending
The steps of Dante’s
Spiralling way to hell

There below wait
Terrible fires and torment
But wait a moment
He’s been through that
Living on to tell the story
Rising out of the ashes
Like the blessed Phoenix

Gripping onto the wings
Of that mythical bird
He arises above
Pain and hurt
Rejoins the human race
To resurrection and salvation
Begins to write poetry again!

May the gods bless
That drunken old poet
Grant him some
Time yet!