He’d drunk too much, but not enough, the times demanded more,
Cursed the shadows, cursed the lights, cursed the church’s open door,
Which faced him through the window of the only local bar,
Where satisfaction never was, you know how people are.

The voices swirled around him, sharing chit and chat,
Women, men, and in-betweens, a bit of this and that,
But most were young so talked of plans, or of their hopes for love,
Though one young man demanded answers, from his missing God above,

The drunk sat there, drinking, and vowed to drink again,
Told the barman it was his right, his need, to numb the pain,
Which through soul and mind, had spread,
Had sapped his will, had filled his thoughts with dread.

Just then he saw a shadow pass across the evening moon, 
And wondered if it were just a cloud, or eclipse that came too soon,
Or perhaps a sign of darker times when the lights would quickly dim,
But decided it was, instead, imagination’s whim.

De Vere once posed the question, but no answer did provide,
For who can judge if life is best, when they have never died,
So when the barman loudly said, to startle those around,
“The play is in the final act, the hare does chase the hound.”

Upright sat the drunk right quick to raise his glass in hand,
“To you, my friend, who sees it all, the wisest in the land,
Our world is gone, has disappeared, old Chaos reigns once more,
And Death, her dear companion, has opened wide the door,”

The barman nodded in salute but others called him mad,
“Just an old eccentric who’s lost what he once had,
A bum, a jerk, an idiot, they should put him in a room,
We don’t need his stupid tales of endless woe and doom”

The drunken man ignored their words and retreated deep within,
Where tranquillity could there be found, far from their dismal din,
Then, refreshed, he left the place, to wander through the night,
Guided by that yearning to hear the music of the light.