So hard to think, to call to order
A throng of words and thoughts within
A battered mind intoxicated
With another round of gin.

Mind's eyes closed, blearily dreaming,
Staring coldly into space.
Searching for the lost remains
Of your world's fallen grace.

Struggling, tearing at the velvet
Misty curtain drawing 'round
Your sense of who and what and where
The final answer may be found.

Once a prince and now pariah,
Crouching over a mug of ale,
With your head held in your hands,
A haunted visage, weak and pale.

In bitter exile, vainly fleeing
The hounds of Fate now stalking you,
Poised to strike with eager fangs
And reap the payment they are due.

And so, this night, you now surrender
To the haze which beckons: drown
In mindless doll-like passive stupor,
An empty smile to mask a frown.

Spinning spellbound, swimming senseless,
The room a giddy carousel,
Whirling, sinking into darkness,
Cast into the yawning well.

Waking from an asphalt dream
By the gutter, steeped in vomit.
Stripped of all your wealth and lying
Cold and feeble, bent and broken.

Baying, howling, greets your ears,
The hunt once distant now upon you.
Hark now to your worst of fears;
The dogs of Fate devour you!

George Chadderdon © 1993