Cold Brewed Morning Fear
by Tim D Livingston
So cold brewed was the fear of man.
I drank it's necessary poisons early.
I learned they could control me,
And so they did.
performed like a monkey at the zoo.
The main exhibit in my own mind.
With everyone watching,
Noses smudged against the glass,
Calling and pointing,
This way and that,
From rope to rope.
I made it my duty to make them smile.
They would feed me after while.
The window fog
There were strange seasonal changes.
It was hard to see their expectations.
Maybe I wasn't so important after all.
My paranoid exhibit,
Just a blip on the way to something greater.
And maybe this humbling, desperate reality
Is awakening my identity.
What is in this morning bottle?
Who fills it so early
with such fear and intimidation?
And if I decide to throw it away
What will ever take it's place?
Posted on 04/01/2017
Copyright © 2024 Tim D Livingston
|Member Comments on this Poem
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 04/02/17 at 11:30 PM
I love that phrase that is the title. My mind went to coffee at first and even though you apparently are talking of beer, or some other strong alcohol, I find thinking of coffee that the "cold brewed morning" takes on a surprising starkness of its own. Also loved "my paranoid exhibit" and I'd like to read your answers poetically to the questions in that last stanza.
|Posted by George Hoerner on 04/04/17 at 06:35 PM
It isn't easy but at times I've found 'life' can take its place! Sometimes one must look closely and at things we don't want to see but even these are part of life and if ignored then we've missed part of life ad it just might have been the thing we needed to wake us from a sleep we thought was part of life. Nice write!
|Posted by Rob Littler on 04/06/17 at 05:04 AM
Throw the bottle away, you are ready to drink from the hose, baby! Probably the issue is the imbibing, not the intoxicant. Moderate your roll, yo! Nothing has to take its place, except grace.
|Posted by Brian Francis on 04/11/17 at 03:01 PM
Well written. I like the way you speak to addiction, in the you don't really speak of it, yet, the whole poem does. I too would like to hear the answers to those final questions. Nice write -- peace -- bf