The thoughts ain’t so bad anymore
Able to drink his coffee
Smoke a cigarette
While standing outside the front door
Rather than fill the parent’s place
With a plume of smoke
Every room getting in on the anxious fella’s toke
Go for a run
Take in what’s going on about the place
Chat to a neighbour
Enjoy that rare Irish sun
He’s able to meet a friend
Go for a drink
Not overdo it
Ending up comatose with his head in the sink
Write a poem
This poem
Read a book
Rest his tired head
On his well kept bed
Things are far better
Better than ever
No looking over his shoulder
Feeling blocked by one helluva boulder
For so long this boy was a soldier
To the cause
Knows he’s doing the right thing
One foot in front of the other
Able to go about his day
Turn the tables somewhat
In looking after his dear mother
She did it for him
So long
Dealing with his wayward ways
The will weakened
Unable to stay strong
It’s a good place to be
Thinking like normal
If the pestering thoughts return
He’ll place them to the back of his head…
Let them burn