The Drunken Preacher

The bar was dimly lit, whiskey glasses clinked,
And the air reeked of alcohol fumes,
I sat, nursing my drink, lost in my thoughts,
When a loud mouthed preacher, stumbled in.

He was drunk beyond belief,
And his words slurred, forming no sense,
Yet, he persisted in his sermon,
As I tried to focus on my drink.

Hank, the alcoholic genius beside me,
Looked as disturbed as I felt,
For the preacher's words were not just loud,
But invasive, almost like an assault.

He ranted about his salvation,
And the sinners who needed to repent,
But his words lacked the conviction,
Of a true believer, genuinely sent.

I wondered, what brought him here,
To this dingy bar, with its cigarette smoke,
And dreary atmosphere,
To preach to an audience of drunken folks?

Did he think he was making a difference,
To the alcoholics who sat around,
Lost in their own demons
In need of a comforting sound?

Yet, as I looked around the bar,
No one seemed to heed his words,
Instead, they took another sip,
And continued their own wayward turns.

So, I turned to Hank,
And we shared a knowing smile,
For we were both lost, in our own way,
Trying to find solace in the bottle's guile.

And as the preacher stumbled out,
His words still ringing in our ears,
I realized, I didn't come here for salvation,
But simply to drown out my fears.