Poems by
Tony Gill


a poem by Tony Gill

The old man lay still
His cold corner of the world awakens
The blare of sirens awakes him
His head swells and deflates in a torrent of pain
His bottle of Liquor cannot hold his despair
So instead he drowns in it, everynight since then
Since that fateful day, the coldest day of irony
When his mountain of dreams, weighed him beneath
Beneath the clouds he longed to bath in
Beneath his father, who’s shoes he could not fill
Beneath his sisters and brother, who laugh
And his bitter sweet flower
The woman who left his blood hot
And his heart empty
Cruel fate is not so rude
It is a blessing wrapped in nails
Holy water synthed with arsenic
As the old man lay quieter by the moment
His life seemed so short
He died with a picture of Nirvana