Guinness, Bushmills and Sweet Oblivion

Posted on Nov 29, 2011


He walks out of the house
Too much weight on his mind
He can’t think of much else
Or the happiness he wants to find

Too many problems created for him
By others who are selfish to be
These people who know nothing
Because their eyes never see

He though, his own worst enemy
Falls into the trap all the time
Maybe this his fateful journey
What will he at the end find?

For now though his mood is dry
He’s off to the pub for wine and song
This decision wasn’t hard to fight
Guinness, Bushmills and sweet oblivion

Maybe he’ll have an eureka moment
On his fourth or fifth drink of the day
Or maybe his mind will be insolvent
And no-one will understand what he says

Whatever happens he’ll muddle through
As he always does and will
These feelings he has lately blue
But hopes he has still

Posted in: Poetry