Uncle Tom

He drank himself out of misery,
But into the grave.
I’m sorry I thought,
That you left things this way.
The hour hand struck,
As time played its game.
I cried to the moon,
In its silvery haze.
“Don’t cry my child,”
She sang down to me.
“At least he’s out of his misery,”
I look at the lake,
Deep into its dark.
I succumbed to the madness,
That pulled at my heart.