posted on Feb, 18 2009 @ 05:12 PM
This Thread has moved me much so I thought I would add.
The Bottle was first seen,
Before the end of the World War had even been,
A Proud Man before that,
Even before Hitlers first March,
Captain enrolled, Young strong, fresh faced,
With his shiny Badge & Cap.
Ruffled he was when Poland fell,
He Joined for Girls, Planes and career,
Not a life of continuous fear.
5 Years later as the Madman retreated,
"Going Up" again against those German Planes,
Got to him the 68th time that year that finally had him defeated,
Vomit they all did, in the dorms as the Claxons sounded,
"Jolly Good Show Old Chap" was just for the films,
This I knew 40 yrs later still hearing his screams at night,
By visions he was hounded,
Flashbacks Terrors seeing the young German boys explode in his sights,
Remembering his two crews who did not make it,
One lad 17 first time up,
He an old pro second crash in those big old planes,
Wished HE was dead not them, strange that with how we see luck.
Every night from the local farmers and potatoes and bounty won in the fight,
Stare at the bottle the officers would, couldn't cry must be strong,
Another few or a bottle tonight,
Stop the planes from dropping their bomb's on home,
If I can only forget and get to sleep without a fright.
Then it was over at last,
But so was the life had to get out of the Air Force,
Drift from woman to woman job to job,
No his only true friend to fend of the night horrors and his sanity defend,
OK back then too many men broken and shells or rosy from booze,
Not many left for women and employers from to choose.
Given to him and his wife I was,
Even though he was not my blood,
Dip his dummy in some rum will stop him crying tonight,
Maybe the screams made him remember the fight.
Not there much when grew a bit wild,
Off to private school my parents paid,
Good in conversation, eases guilt of abandoning their child.
Careers in pubs hotels and clubs is important you see nothing more,
He can come on occasional weekends or some holidays will settle the score.
His wife out and about and in need of much psychiatric help, this another secret to, never to be talked about or said,
The bottom of the bottle theirs or others was OK then for them to sleep,
As their child or charge, every night wept then to get to sleep in his Bed,
With parents music, drunken brawls and and loud smell of Tabacco everywhere from the bars below, would till early hours every night seep and waft into
With charges pots and pans being thrown, smashing glass and every day the screams,
Shouting slurs and sound of police, would daily and nightly vibrate through the floor boards and beams infiltrate growing dreams.
Nine now and told one night as words mixed with the smell of alcohol into my nose again streams,
What's wrong with you "men don't cry"
Oh since that day how I have tried.
A man now all front and wisdom would of made social services frown,
Still stupid enough to be drinking on a Sunday night,
Half fair on the bus to town, idiot acting like a clown,
Staggering and swaying for full adult fair on way home,
All the Barmen and Maids knew me well,
Had seen me sat in the pubs on school nights with charge or family at last bell,
Now I was 15 and alone a regular, so if I didnt they wouldnt tell.
Could get my friends served to was a popular dude.
Looking back in the years since I wish a tear would fall to show the guilt,
To their growing years my friends I was disrespectful and robbed them it was rude.
Grown man now first working job finished excess of college and so,
I keep my college place work full time nothing wrong with every night finishing one or two bottles of wine,
Pretend by looking at the bottom of a bottle all and every weekend,
Many people it brings to your life and the same amount go,
None though really are truly close friends,
Cant be alone need to escape go out and drink with the boys tonight,
If I cant find a girl to share one with to get into her knickers, until she gets sick of it and we fight.
Then alone don't want to be with the boys now,
Just me and the glass bottom another one gone, friend, partner and opportunity lost how?
What's wrong I know I was right,
Frown and lament staring into the glass,
Searching for the answer in this sweet nectar,
So down drinking and thinking all the time the past the past missed loves pull at my heart,
And then a big man of 24 finds his truth finds the missing soul fragment or part.
Searching since the age of nine, a solitary tear falls he is shocked at this new sensation and breaks down,
His glass filling with tears now not spirit beer or wine.
How many hours of sobbing went by he does not know,
Just that for the first time ever the next morning instead of a hangover he feels fine.
Staring into the mirror he frowns and decides today is a new start and he wont go to town.
More than a decade has gone since then,
Once or twice a year a single tear will fall, even a torrent once or twice since when the loss of loved one.
A good bottle of red, a beer with friends on christmas to he can stare into still,
But no longer searching and hiding behind that glass wall,
A different person a real man who can feel,
and has a much more powerful will.
Once or twice a month is enough at most to keep him chilled.
The cycle started with tears born from fear before he was born,
It ended with fear of never being able to really feel
And be felt,
Behind all the bull# and spiel,
Was a nine year old child wanting to be held and not ignored again,
For the bottom of the bottle and always being scorned.
That was a touch cathartic I dont think Ive ever shared that part of my life with anyone, and nearly had a tear remembering it all lol.
[edit on 18-2-2009 by MischeviousElf]