The Tavern

They asked me why I came
to their tavern,
and their chair,
And I told them I was empty
and needed comfort there.
Then they asked me why I questioned them,
refused to drink their ales.
And I told them I was looking for themselves,
not fairytales.
Then they asked me why I bothered them,
a stranger in their midst,
And I begged them not to listen to
the mugs held in their fists.

But, they raised their glasses higher,
and drank the drunkard's brew,
'til they'd drowned their hurts and loneliness,
just as I had wanted too!
And I could see,
 their stupors were
more comforting than I.
More trusting, more believable,
than my words which left them dry.
So, they pushed away from me
to liquor's comfort fell,
And I was lost and gaping o'er
both their Heaven,
 and their Hell.

May 9, 1971
 By Linda A. Copp ©