As I was returning home one evening, I noticed the amount of cars at area barrooms.

I thought, “But by the grace of God, I would be one of those people, wasting time, spending money and drinking, trying to find happiness.”

My heart went out to the wives and children of those people who never know what time daddy’s coming home.

I once read that the drug, alcohol, has wrecked more families that anything else.

The following poem was written a few years ago by a convict in a Joliet, Illinois prison:

THE BAR

The name of each saloon’s a Bar,

The fittest of its names by far.

A Bar to Heaven, a door to Hell;

Whoever named it named it well.

A Bar to manliness and wealth,

A door to want and broken health;

A Bar to honor, pride and fame,

A door to grief and sin and shame;

A Bar to hope, a Bar to Prayer,

A door to darkness and despair;

A Bar to honored useful life.

A door to brawling, senseless strife;

A Bar to all that’s true and brave.

A door to every drunkard’s grave;

A Bar to joys that home imparts,

A door to tears and aching hearts;

A Bar to Heaven, a door to Hell,

Whoever named it named it well.

If you have any questions or comments, please write Harold Keller at Get High on Life, P.O. Drawer U, Reserve, LA 70084, call 985-652-8477 or email hkeller@comcast.net.