Poetry

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Want it- Dead or Alive


A serial killer is on the loose,

seeking those it can consume;

It goes by the name of alcohol,

To some fragrant as perfume.



First taste to most is repulsive,

a second may numb the first;

This drink can make some feel happy,

Or bring out their worst.



This killer has many patterns,

It masks a hurt soul's sorrow;

As one grows dependent on a fix,

troubles return tomorrow.



Perhaps a father who is loving,

till he downs this liquid fire;

His temper then begins to flame,

abusing those his does desire.



The killer seeks those in their prime,

to live as if there is no tomorrow;

They may be right as they drive faster,

bringing their mother sorrow,



It may prove ironic the iron rods,

keeping prisoners from society;

Are commonly refered to as bars,

last place some leave from free.



Alcohol may pose as a friend,

Yet destroys masses at large;

At first passive like a child,

When hooked, it takes charge.



Stephen T. Boan

copyright 1996

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