Sense Sonnet - Acher

 To Death in Sips

Uncork that last bottle of mine,

And pour into a crystal glass,

Sense the bouquet of the fine wine,

A departing pleasure, alas.

With a finger, the wine I stir

To mix up with the poison well.

Upon drinking what will occur?

Will I go to heaven or hell?

I'm liking living less and less.

I guess I did expect much more.

And expected too much I guess.

My life has become such a bore.

Put down the emptied glass to meet

My end of time here, bittersweet.