Scotch Is A Secret
If drunken is a verb, then death is one too,
For they both induce violence, and if not, radical truth.
If a last wistful breath is what's seen as a plea,
Then please, gentle secrecy; let me fall down to knee.
Whiskey is a worry, and vodka is a vice,
I may once taste sweet blissful beer, but only once or twice.
Preach for the obvious, the sacred; the life;
Hypocrite be an innocent; a daughter a wife.
Let us all hide our secrets, behind the worrisome wine,
Charming be the chardonnay, as we taste flask flat beer fine.
Let the priest sip clandestine champagne,
And let all be right with the world,
Let a liar be justified a fight,
And a mute have the option of word.
If all of this be true; and the alcohol stable a fire;
Then let scotch be kept my secret,
And I, a truthful liar.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
Added by Poetry Lover
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