Potfuls of wine

Potfuls of wine

A Poem by Hyphenated

What went bad

Who went mad

Life's a poisonous repetitious bore,


by the nostalgic ghosts of past,

tearing my flesh apart each night

drinking my blood poisoned with


blowing into my ear

all the lies and truths

of a life long lived.

I cannot wake from this nightmare

when my eyes are shut tight.

My lashes glued with some

sticky incantation to the skin.

Open them!

You say.

I cannot.

How can I?

The devils waiting to pour wine into them

I see them waiting at my doorstep

With potfuls of wine.

"To celebrate the dead" they say.

I feel my lungs shiver

inside my flesh I feel

a fire blazing. An iceberg freezing.

Take me. No! Leave me.

I want to yell at them.

I cannot, I fear.

They have potfuls of wine,

to celebrate the dead.

© 2020 Hyphenated

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Added on October 8, 2020
Last Updated on October 8, 2020



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