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Whiskey Hearts

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  • AlexandratheLate
    You know I’m a fan of your verse. Great story told I’m verse. Love it

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  • RhymeLovingWriter
    A rambling beauty narrating the arrows of life - friendship among the "ruins" (if indeed they be). I enjoy your versing so, so much, Tony Grannell. Thank you.

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  • Johntee
    When once, we men were men of dreams
    ’till whiskey seeped bletween the seams.​

    Salud to the tot,
    To the swallow,
    To the jar.
    I wonder If there's a
    Missing "R"

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  • Tony Grannell
    started a topic Whiskey Hearts

    Whiskey Hearts

    From whence I came, to where I’m bound,
    to grieve my loss and cheer what found.
    Hold sway the path like wiser men,
    what luck if I could do that, then.

    Through northern winds, I’ve been disarmed:
    the southern belles that I have charmed.
    On western seas, I nearly drowned,
    In eastern dens, I’ve oft been found.

    The world I’ve seen, the seven seas
    with hurried breaths and at my ease.
    Bore bruise and brute, what cheats there be
    ’till a woman got the best of me.

    A fool for love, ’twas surely, I,
    ’twas as if she just passed me by.
    A better man stole her away,
    and still, it hurts me to this day.

    Of broken hearts and disbelief,
    how strange the essence of a thief.
    To steal the apple of one’s eye
    and all for love, one can’t deny.

    Since then, I’ve tramped from town to town,
    knew not the roads or where I’m bound.
    The whiskey kept me rambling on,
    most times forgot where I came from.

    Got drunk with louts and down-an’-outs,
    I’ve fell and felled in bloody bouts.
    Been moved along for vagrancy,
    the cops don’t like the likes of me.

    Was tempted to from time to time
    but never stole a single dime.
    If you could but afford me some,
    to begging ways, what I’ve become.

    The hooch will get me in the end,
    the drunks who keep me round the bend.
    A sorry lot, we no-good bums,
    of rotten teeth and bleeding gums.

    We stand around the burning drum,
    a bottle passed from bum to bum.
    The truth be known when I ’mongst them,
    I’ve never known such kinder men.

    They speak of loss, of stolen homes,
    of broken hearts and busted bones.
    Of loneliness and ridicule,
    been played the pawn and marked a fool.

    Perhaps someday, we’ll find a place
    to wear our ways with style and grace.
    When once, we men, we men of dreams
    ’till whiskey seeped between the seams.