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This poem was created from Experiences from my childhood from around the time I was 7 years old , it was a very sad time in life at that stage growing up with my aunt and uncle.

Sherry Bottle Minefield

76030_156748494479738_1474909677_nby Sean Faith22 Aug 2013

Turn the handle slowly, hands shaking, heart racing, the sherry bottle minefield awaits.
No choice; so hungry.
No choice; so weak.
Scared, alone, but must go on.

Door opens, the dry smell of sherry hits like a Tsunami smashing against shore line.
Total devastation.
Emotional devastation.
Nothing left but a lost, scared child standing in the sherry bottle minefield.

Must go forward, can’t turn back.
Target spotted, can’t get caught, don’t want the leather belt, legs still sore.
Make sure they are sleeping, out like a light, time to make my move.
Legs trembling, heart’s racing, tears running down my face; make any noise and the game is up.

Move slowly forward, one step at a time, watching out for the millions of mines.
The dry sherry smell getting stronger the deeper into the minefield I go.
Nearly there now, just a few more steps, are they still sleeping?
Yes, dreaming of sherry bottles jumping over the moon or maybe counting them like sheep in an intoxicated sleep.

Slowly slip the wallet from the monster’s pocket and take a little money.
The relieved feeling, now I can eat.
But the mission is not over yet, need to get out safe
Same route back, while they are still asleep.


A mine goes off, bottles crash against the wall.
The body freezes, terror courses through my veins: I’m fixed to the spot.
I look around, their bodies are stirring,
Poisonous minds are awaking.

My legs are trembling, I must keep walking.
I hear the mumbling of my name in the dry sherry air.
I reach the minefield door, closing it behind me as I run down the stairs.

Copyright Sean Faith 2013