The Crutch

The heavy feet which trace the night
Seek to find a spark of light
That'll shine and lead the way
From drunken night to glazed day.

The bottle which feeds his rugged frame
Provides the crutch for a life so lame.
Enclosed within its crystalline form
It provides the solace, inviting and warm.

I see you stray from street to lane
Volatile changes are your weather vane.
The doping liquor provides the force
To face daylight at its crudest source.

The door hinges creek and lead inside,
A room most lurid, gruesome and wide.
The shuffling contour unsteady treads
Evading the light of day, he nightly dreads.

When darkness casts its sombre cloth.
He drinks his life in bitter wrath.
The wheels of gin churns nightly on:
Sunlight uncovers the man forlorn!