At the Bottom of the Bottle

By: Gus Victoria

At the bottom of the bottle I chased the void,

It consumed me before the first drink,

Emptiness without reason,

A sip and another,

I slipped and didn’t even bother,

The nectar was relief,

For the mind stumbled

The heart grumbled

And friends stood in disbelief;

“Who is this Libertine?

That in knowledge walks,

And dances so debauched?”

My soul then I bared

There with the glass held,

“I am the poet,

That finds the words

To show how odd the worlds

We straddle are to our souls;

I am the artist

That paints reflections

Beyond the facade.

To the interior,

Bitter melancholy of unlived potential,

A drought we all drink

As in depression we sink.”

Freedom is found in the naked acts

That others blush at

The joy of sensual pleasure

When in respectful agreement

Is enjoyed measure for measure.

At the bottom of this bottle before the void

I find the courage to explore...

Days and Years

By: Gus Victoria

Days forgotten to years have turned

And the world has moved on,

No end was written

Before the book was closed.

The pages have yellowed,

Turned, tattered, and turned again.

To find what was missing

Reliving the past, aware

Of the fairy tale ended,

By two bound hearts created.

Memories burn ever clearer

Banishing the fog of vague recollection,

Consigned once to oblivion,

Yet kept hidden like jewels

In the heart,

Locked, until now.

Wounds never heal

When the pain

Is a preferred companion.

And the scar

The badge of finality.

The confession of loss.

The truth of oblivion.