I am a cairn, a pile
Of stone and rock
A monument, of sorts
I drink alone
Not knowing why
Or when
This all began

Or whether peace
Or torment heaped
Upon my hallowed ground
My solace satiated
Patiently awaiting
Some fresh
Passion

Yet, no passion springs
There is no fury
Only loneliness resides so
Why do I abide
This misery
This loathsome anguish
Served to me with bourbon

Maybe rocks
Maybe not
And yet I wonder, why
Do I recite
This vulgar scent
Of suffering
And sadness

Perhaps I’m
Self-ashamed
For leaving all
I’ve ever loved
Or perchance
Distraught because
I’ve never really loved

And stumble then
Upon some
Thought of joy
I’ve known
A bare
Remembrance
A cairn