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Contributor: Brian Baumgarn

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His life was once an arbor filled
with ripe and juice-filled grapes.
Rich nectar there for taking he
sought dubious escapes.
Instead of living thoughtfully
he hid and shut the drapes.

The ripe fruits soon fell to the ground
becoming earthen rust.
He lived to spend his hours adrift
on tonics born of lust.
Perhaps to fathom deeper realms,
but his mind turned to dust.

He plumbed the depths until a certain
madness seized his brain.
Frail, unconnected synapses
are all that now remain.
The substances that took him on
his quest to glean and learn,
all claimed a piece of his keen mind
and grant no safe return.

He spends his days in sunlit rooms
the curtains opened wide.
A plush and cushioned high back chair
good people did provide.
From there he greets each morning and
the arbor in the yard.
Grapes grow there filled with juice again,
he pays them no regard.

Common Verse

**After the song "Lather," by Jefferson Airplane.

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65 year old grandfather working with developmentally disabled men. Writing again after many years. Writing and reading poetry lead to serenity.


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