A Saturday night

I walk the streets, no longer a boy, yet not a man; drank, yet am not drunk; sober enough to see the void within and without. Surely there is more to this polyester world than the empty momentary bouts of passion and rage. The homeless, asleep in their misery, awake in their futility - wrapped in cloth against the winter chill, awake in their wide eyed lust as the young in their mini skirts, designer jeans and loud laughs and voices give sound to the hollowness of existence. Maybe it's just me. Give me a few drinks today and the alcohol makes me a dark philosopher; contrast to that of yesterday where in the sunshine of friendship, hope and life we laughed and drank to the promise of tomorrow.

Perhaps this is the reality that crystallises with age -despair at an increasingly loveless, colourless world where white rabbits are shot, where the wolf eats the pigs and sleeping beauty is passed out in ER. Oh stars above, show me the light that once comforted and guided the lost mariner.