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Before You Hit the Ground

by Christopher J Davidson

I: Compost

Oh, wretched, wretched man am I
To have wasted away all these years,
Regrets strewn about as leaves in a dark, untrodden forest,
And the gnawing and gnashing and wailing of
Insufficient attempts at humanity tear at my soul and
Rip at the flesh barely clinging to these tired, old bones.
The future never looked this bleak before,
But childhood memories are just that -
Memories to remind me of days when the world was
A brighter and hopeful place.
Those days are gone.
Those days shall never be again.

II: Sin Dhas

I’ve blamed the boozing and floozing,
The slap of cards on leather
And the feel of cool bourbon on my lips.
Just one more bartender, and I shall be done for the night.
But, alas, there was always just one more.
The radio preacher tells me “Repent!
Repent and ye shall be saved, for these be the things
That sin is made of.”
But I cannot.
No, I cannot, and so I shall weep,
And find a way to cleanse myself.

III: Detox

This evacuation, this painful reminiscence
These toxins itching at my veins,
These demons screaming for release.
A rise, a fall, a swell
This white-capped sea within
Begs to be set free
From bounds and chains
And so I shall sit,
And pine over the agony
Of my very soul being ripped out from within
And then sleep, and dream

IV: Before You Hit the Ground

I walk this path
And circle it thrice over
The soundtrack of my eternity echoing
With the voices of loved ones;
And I tread and teeter on this cliff,
And then…
Nothing.
Naught but the wind in my face,
And the peace that sweet release will bring;
And here in these final moments,
Eyes closed, face toward heaven,
Arms out in total surrender
To the inevitable, final, and deadly blow
I hear Him.
Among the noise, the deafening static,
That still, small voice speaks to me.
But it is too late.
The end approaches swiftly.
And then…
Breath
For this is not the beginning of the end,
But the end of the beginning.

V: Vac Oden

And now where do we begin,
When the deck has been restacked
In the middle of the hand;
When the bottle goes empty
And the binge is incomplete;
When salvation takes you in its arms
Just when all hope was lost?
Where do we go when home
Is no longer here?

VI: Fear and Trembling

The first steps are always
The hardest to take when the journey
Will be long;
But these words, these promises
Will be sufficient.
And though the path is narrow
And rough in places, I will make my journey.
For I am a pilgrim and a foreigner in this land,
And I must press on and endure.
The gates await, and I will meet them
In glory, pure and blameless.

12/24/2008

Author's Note: This is the accompanying poem that will go with the album I'm releasing in March 2009 titled Before You Hit the Ground. The album itself is instrumental and ambient and has no words, so I figured I'd do something different than what I've done in the past and write something about the album.

Posted on 12/25/2008
Copyright © 2020 Christopher J Davidson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/25/08 at 01:28 PM

I just might have to scoop up a copy and review it for one the sites I work for, man. This definitely grabbed my interest.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 12/28/08 at 01:14 PM

A fascinating look at alcoholic rehab from the view of the participant. Also, a tragic one in many respects but with a glimmer of hope! Reminds me a bit of "Lost Weekend" (that dates me!)

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 03/28/15 at 11:54 AM

marvelous writing.

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