Poem: Who Is Knocking At My Front Door?

Who’s that knocking on my front door?

So rapid. So hasty. Shaking the floor.

I peeked through the window hole.

To my surprise, there was no soul.

I rubbed my eyes and looked twice.

Ah man! Alcoholism–a hideous vice.

Illusions. Nightmares. Pain and anxiety.

Drinking the bottle doesn’t make you free.

It enslaves you to a whirlwind disease.

Weeping tears into endless seas.

When I am sober I will wait by the door

Hoping and praying a knock once more.

Opening the door to see hope stop in

Grabbing my hand, never looking back again.

Chad A. Damitz

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