The Southpaw

The Southpaw

walked away from home

a long time ago.

Leaving behind friends,

clutching addiction’s book of lies

that would never pull him through.

Unaware of the revelatory

he went down those steps

and then down some more.

At the bottom he found

a place that even devils

could not comprehend.

It was a world without love.

Where blood is boiled

and the heart eaten raw.

(That absence of love

can be welcoming

to the unloved.)

He found sycophants rubbing

the backs in the shadows

of those only gifted at rubbing.

He slept fitfully among

the narcotic lizards.

Their needles and pipes.

He missed his past

and after time, curiosity climbed him

back up those slippery stairs.

Where a stranger gave him a new book,

the pages to read.

Pages to heal him through.

The Southpaw decided to stay.

To fight left handed with love punches

and never to flail behind again.