I wrote this for a friend who has been sober for four years. I thought you guys might like it.
The Other Side:
A poison enticing, a youth corrupted, the fall into darkness, a selfish sin.
A sightless vision, blurred and warped, weakness letting destruction in.
Hooks piercing flesh, wounds left to fester, rotting from prolonged abuse.
An unending need, desperation increased, longing for immediate use.
A lifeless body, a mindless soul, brought to a state of fear and undeath.
Creeping backward, misery unnoticed, falling towards a final breath.
A hand is extended, pulled from blackness, seen as life full of worth.
The grime is washed, exposed to light, ready for a slow rebirth.
A painful sight, a horror realized, weeping over time in hell.
Deep reflection, a new perception, a strong desire to become well.
A road is traveled, a nervous journey, a future dependent upon commitments made.
A meeting of souls, shared existence, a sea of minds with visions swayed.
A hard confession, painful telling, a story all too raw.
A shared ideal, advice abounding, recollections told of what they saw.
A comfort rising, support unending, a community of souls in process of healing.
Steps toward life, free from the master, finally able to tell what she's feeling.
Time goes by, she stays on the path, a change now made complete.
She admits her problems, forever vigilant, triumphant over the ultimate defeat.
A poem about addiction.
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- Joekababazae
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Forum isn't great for spacing.
Really like the poem. Like the six nasty lines leading to:
these four:
A hand is extended, pulled from blackness, seen as life full of worth.
The grime is washed, exposed to light, ready for a slow rebirth.
A painful sight, a horror realized, weeping over time in hell.
Deep reflection, a new perception, a strong desire to become well.
Then six lines about recovery and the great ending:
Time goes by, she stays on the path, a change now made complete.
She admits her problems, forever vigilant, triumphant over the ultimate defeat.
Last line could be a changing chorus if you made this a song ...
I like this.
Really like the poem. Like the six nasty lines leading to:
these four:
A hand is extended, pulled from blackness, seen as life full of worth.
The grime is washed, exposed to light, ready for a slow rebirth.
A painful sight, a horror realized, weeping over time in hell.
Deep reflection, a new perception, a strong desire to become well.
Then six lines about recovery and the great ending:
Time goes by, she stays on the path, a change now made complete.
She admits her problems, forever vigilant, triumphant over the ultimate defeat.
Last line could be a changing chorus if you made this a song ...
I like this.
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