A Single Glass of White Wine

Dominated by the music
Unable to speak
The years of struggle
Inside me like an iron cage
With no gate
I hung there, a muted tortured songbird
In the Italian Restaurant
On Bethnal Green Road

Music, that swinging lamp
Carried through a storm
Lit only for special occasions
Filled my ears at last
Like the whistle of a runaway train
And all I had to help the pain
Was a single glass of white wine

5 thoughts on “A Single Glass of White Wine

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