Bar Stool

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Bar Stool

Smooth dark wood and a slightly musty smell
It's the place he goes when 'e feels unwell
Hungry or thirsty, it caters to all
Who's to judge the loner at the bar?

It's not unusual, at least for him
To find himself sitting here again
It's a comfortable place on top a stool
He's become too apathetic to feel a fool

Years ago it felt lonely and sad
But now it's the norm, he's done being mad
The drink he stirs, one elbow under hand
Not strong enough, his usual brand

The music so scratchy, an old showtune
He hardly listens, his ears turned toward gloom
Noises of the bar, ice and drinks clinking
It doesn't register on the ears of the drinking

Away from the world this small castle of stone
Walls high, moat dug, praying for sins to atone
The past brought present by the force of habit
The man sinks down, his mind has had it

No longer able to listen to himself
He listens to patrons, their hearts on the shelf
Next to the whiskey, rum, and wine
Their troubles deposited all in due time

They all leave, slowly stumbling out
The sober man stands, pays, walks proud
A blistering wind slaps his unguarded face
Reminds him of another time and place

Last updated: 2016-12-07

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