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George Grogan Jul 2017
Like an ash from a flame
fallen to the ground…
I am cold, gray and dead.
Like an ember
once amid the flames burning bright
I am thrown down
and trampled underfoot.
George Grogan
George Grogan Jul 2017
When my cold, gray body lay in dark wet ground
In that day when my voice no longer sounds
Remember me who loved you more
Remember me who loved you most
(And meet someday on heaven’s shore)

You and I as partners have run the Kingdom road
For us to leave and forsake
were not mere words

We followed His grace and heard His voice
Stored up treasure in the life to come

please forgive me
If for a moment I lost sight of heaven’s prize
and in my weak folly
was lowered in your eyes

Walk backward my love and forget those days
Walk backward with a mantle of grace
and let love cover my naked shame
Remember me who loved you more
Remember me who loved you most
George Grogan
George Grogan Jul 2017
I roll from bed.., awoke: too a strong a word
My head aches and my frame shivers and shakes
A sick feeling washes over me and I lay back down

It was a great night …it must have been…right?
Guilt washes over me..
with a furtive glance i look around
Did I leave some sign? Does she know?

I see her watching me from the shadows with a withering look
Her arms crossed together, eyes that no longer cry tell the story
The hurt, the pain, the lies have all taken the their toll
And I wonder if today will be the day she goes
or if shes’ already gone

my wife no longer longs.
life a dull drudgery
like a hiker lost in the woods
head down, she slowly moves
one foot in front of the other…
hour by hour and day by day…
knowing the end is inevitable

Our romance is like the silver ash of a fire
that once burned bright
now cold and dry
it didn’t break
just crumbled under unspoken weight

Deeper than passion
has been our friendship
and that has been trodden on,
pressed into the ground

Love is not enough,
it may keep us together
but my sin keeps us apart

I know she is here because her shadow accuses me every day
but am afraid that her heart has left
and withdrawn deep inside of her
to a safe place where I can no longer touch it
For you see, we are no longer …two in one, …but three.
Her…Me…and the Drink.

When we started she was my mistress..
we would sneak away and play late into the night.
I looked forward to the times we had together.
No one understood me… but her
I could relax and be myself,
laugh, cry and shout
But somehow she has become my master
and it is no longer want, but must that drives me to her.

She even sleeps with us,
invading the most intimate place of our lives.
She eats my food..leaving me with no appetite.
My dreams have faded until they are ghosts,
purpose, passion and destiny are words that now mock me.
She monopolizes me…taking all my time,
I look at them, the kids... need the father I once was,
especially the little one
, .. tomorrow…soon, I will make it all right
And put away the Drink

But somehow she has taken my energy “to do”.
I haven’t quit wanting..i have just quit doing
She has drained my spirit and stolen my soul
not in a rush like a hurricane
but like a hidden cancer slowly eats away a hole…
making me fat, lazy, stupid and grey
grey in heart, like a sail with a gaping hole
The winds may blow but have no affect on me

AH! But I will stop all of this…
I will be what I once was, ….NO! even better.
I will do it! Yep, tomorrow, or the day after.
After all there is no need to waste what I have hidden…
I will get rid of it tonight and then I can quit.
It will be easier if there is no drink laying around


The car door closes and they drive away
I can’t believe my good luck! Alone for the day!
I open the closet, pulling back the wall I pry out the hidden bottle
I smile.. my wife is clever and thinks she knows everything about me and my ways
Oh but she could never guess how clever we are!
She calls it “sneaky, lying and decieving”…
She is soooo serious! Lighten up, babe!
its just a game! Right?
I win this round! Ha!

I pull the lid and move the bottle to my mouth
No, not here.
This is a special moment that deserves preparation.
I go into the living room
move the chair toward the tv
and put in the tape that I will soon forget
Fumbling in the kitchen I get a small glass
(no wanton wanting (at least not now) no sloppy rushing the trough
but slow and deliberate alcoholic foreplay..
Like a doctor preparing for surgery
i make ready for my private party
I slowly fill my glass halfway
eager anticipation and a sense of fulfillment overwhelm me
I laugh out loud and make a toast
…one of many that I will make tonight.
The first (from The groundhog day movie) is to world peace.

There are stages I go through or places I land when I drink
The first is a wam feeling of relaxation
My Irish heritage crying out “drink and be merry”
(it must have been the Germans or some other overly organized race who inserted...for tomorrow we shall die!)

I find myself laughing hilariously
at the movie, myself, the world in general
I know what I need I think to myself!
Something to eat!
Not too much
because I wouldn’t want the food to dull the power of my drink
I stumble into the kitchen and prepare a huge meal

I am halfway through it when my laughter turns into crying.
Like it was only yesterday
I cry with bitter grief over my dead father, my sister, and on and on…
My heart is flooded with painful memories and in anguish I weep

I believed for a long time that this crying was good for me
An emotional release that allowed me to vent past pain
But I am convinced that alcohol is a magical drug.
It can raise the dead and resurrect memories long buried
It brings to life every hurt,
offense, shame and pain with amazing power

Like a trapped and tortured animal the pain turns to anger.
As a thunderstorm moves across a purple sky
A deep and dark rage begins to rise
A sense of outrage that crys NEVER, NEVER AGAIN!
Like a chained dog teased by those just out of reach
I find myself shaking my fist at ghosts and days gone by

But this also fades… at least for the night,
like an extinguished fire leaves a blackened forest
the rage leaves a dark sooty stain upon my soul
I feel exhausted, very tired and sleepy
The black and gray screen on the television flickers
I can’t remember what movie I was watching or when it ended

I roll from bed.., awoke: too strong a word
My head is aching and my frame shivers and shakes
A sick feeling washes over me and I lay back down
It was a great night …I am pretty sure.
Guilt washes over me..
Did I leave some sign? Does she know?
And I see her watching me from the shadows with a withering look
Her arms crossed together, eyes that no longer cry tell the story
The hurt the pain the lies have all taken the their toll
And I wonder if today will be the day she goes or if shes’ already gone
D**n, I need a drink!
George Grogan Jul 2017
Depression

I awoke with a start. My legs ****** as if I had walked off the edge of my dream.
But there was no dream
they had spent themselves long ago.
I sat up and choked
on the black ash of depression…
……dark and bitter, filling my mouth…
leaving it parched and dry…
I can’t muster the effort to spit,
so I swallow the lump in my throat.
My heart like a dried and withered gourd can no longer remember what it was like to feel.
How many days, (or is it lifetimes)
have I been
numbed, dumbed and dim?
So empty and grey

I cannot move.
My mind turns slowly ….
like a sick, paltry shadow, crawling behind.
…. a hollow caricature of days gone by.

I know that I was once passionate and energetic,
And life more than a word.
My eyes flick back and forth mometarily
as I try to conjure up the images
and recall the times.
But like a wisp of smoke
they simply tease my memory
and drift away before I can grasp them.

I hear the voice of my family
as they move around in a different world
not a black and white like my own.
Like a video shot in some
colormatic
astounding
fluorescent  film.
They are in
high speed,
high definition,
high resolution,

their voices like sing song ….
…..Grate on my nerves.
….like trying to listen to a 45 record on high speed.
I don’t resent their joy because that would require more feeling than I can muster.

They look in on me
and I hear the worry in their voices.
the little one asks
“he won’t die will he, mom? ”
Poor, little, precious one, …
doesn’t know I am already dead.

I lay back down and close my eyes
Everything is dark….
And I am
empty and alone.


By Michael Jarrett copyright 2005
George Grogan

— The End —