By Peter W.
The grand old man of Recovery
Lay dying - many gathered at his side
That disease which knows neither rhyme nor reason
Had taken him for a final ride
And he'd woken up in a dingy basement
Where he'd been willing to sell his soul
Stumbling to his weary feet
He'd crawled out of that awful hole
And asked to go to detox
But they told him he wouldn't survive
With heart and body feeble
He'd never emerge alive
"And for what would I be living
If I carried on as I am now?
Feeding this awful disease
And being an example of how to bow
Before the alter of addiction
Deep in the darkest hell
Let me die trudging Freedom's road
If there's a chance for me to get well."
So they let him once more into detox
Where he would start a healing climb
And he gazed at the door of the washroom
Where he knew he'd spend some time
Then squaring his shoulders he stepped forward
And hung his head to pray
Asking God to grant him courage
If only "Just For Today"
For soon would be pain and purging
Which he hadn't felt for a decade or more
But he was determined to be clean and serene
When he showed up at Heaven's Door
For the next few days the pain came
At times a minute an hour seemed
At times he didn't know what was tangled vision
And what he'd only dreamed
Attendants fed him and gave him water
Changing his sheets again and again
'Till the sickness faded as it must
And he felt snug as a bear in it's den
But his heart was no longer the same
As that long ago other time
Attendants said an ambulance must be summoned
As he began the Steps for a final time
Told of being powerless
And how unmanageable his life had been
Then with quavering voice he described miracles
Which he'd been and known and seen
While in another room a newcomer
Ceased his restless pacing of the floor
And dashing into the hallway
Headed for the exit door
Running in fear from Recovery
And back to his existence of strife
But pausing when he heard a weak voice
Ask God to take his will and his life
Pausing for a minute in the hallway
He heard that last secret the old man did hide
The one that had taken that grand old man
For his final hell bound ride
Then a wheezy tired voice
Asked for a cleansing of the soul
Spell bound the frightened newcomer
Felt his feet grow rooted to the earth
As the old man thanked de-tox's attendants
For their help in this final rebirth
And as the approaching ambulance siren
Could be heard in the distance afar
A feeble voice muttered through inventory
Admitting it was wrong to play Recovery Czar
The old man was so tired
That he could only pray and meditate
And the attendants knew the ambulance arrival
Would surely be too late
Old eyes opened but briefly
A spiritual awakening shone for all to see
Then they closed once more for a final time
As his soul slipped away and was free
Then the newcomer called in the door
As he firmly turned from his doom
"He also did the second part of Step Twelve
Would someone help me to my room?"
Then stumbled along with helping hands
That firmly and kindly reached out
He heard the awesome silence
That was a triumphant shout
© 2004 Bob Ramstead/12 Step Cafe. All rights reserved