A sanctuary, a corner
In a dim and smoke-filled pub
Long gone from social happenings
But exclusive to this club.
He's looked like that forever
In clothes he doesn't change,
His thoughts are deep, distorted,
His mind close to deranged.
His eyes look lost and distant
With a hint of lonely fear,
His focus of attention is
His cravings for more beer.
A constant nervous shuffle,
Those telltale trembling hands,
A conscious thought is wondering
Will he sit down, crouch or stand?
Digging deep, the coins get counted
Through his loose, now broken smokes,
Asking for his final pour
He coughs so sore, he chokes.
Now his life's a contradiction
In this barren, busy setting;
Long gone are thoughts of dreams and hope,
His thoughts now are of forgetting.
The spirit in his new poured drink
Will soon be demons in his mind
Then thoughts can lead to actions
That he never can rewind.
But there has to be a moral
To a tale so sad, so true:
The diseases of society
May look for me and you.
by Damien Gallagher
Read the story behind this poem
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