Tales from the Tavern

  Why does the white sky fill me with wonder?
I long to be like the garden songbird,
Singing praise each morning,
As I watch the snow white fountain sparkle.

Not beneath the o so static, traffic lights,
Or beside street vendors as they stop me in my tracks.
Though I let temptation drift,
Their paper money come and go,
And statements such as ‘nothing more’ float by,
Still I,
Sit here alone in taverns,
And thirst Intoxication.

Yet the barman says ‘Son we’re closing on the hour’
As if to tempt his drinkers,
With a long and winding journey home.

How can this simple sunrise be,
Such a paradise of hardship?

How can the flowers grow,
If the water comes in small and finite drops.

Take me to the fountain,
Not my tavern,
Its doors are always closing.
Drunks and weary pilgrims wander,
Aimless as the sun.
If you think he has no secrets,
Sell your house,
Become a drunk.

For this is me,
The traveller,
And this is me,
The fool to be.
Ever drinking,
Always hiding all I know,
And always searching for the fountain. By: Tommy Gee