In The House of Kings

There are times where you are reminded that money is simply an oil, which greases the wheels of everyday life. The more you have the easier life is but it does not make a life, only furnishes it.

My Sister recently got married and returning to my suite at Ettington Park Hotel the old reminder made itself known.

In my youth I probably would have continued drinking on my own, removed my stomach lining at some point and got into bed not too bothered about the time or getting undressed.

Truth is, you learn that after a point not even drink can silence these moments or your head. No matter how you try.

Instead, I decided to go to bed with the feeling and wrestled for a few hours to get some sleep.

The following is a bullet poem. A poke at a demon and a breath of air, when it is difficult to breathe.

The Lonesome

A night’s glass slipped from the hand
Odin is left at the closed white door
Thirsty as desert sand.

Nectar is placed neatly on glass
Left to abandonment,
The loss of head, body and smile.

A King has set the suite with
grand oak, golden legs along with an eagles view
across acres of sculpted green art.

Midas has provided all
But not company beneath the sheets
to fill the space.