He traded in his pirate badge
for danker weed from Trinidad.
His hammer had him by the balls;
his love had gotten menopause.
On a bus with bitter pills,
his purpose gone, was missing still.
He saw the signs and distance fly;
he took a breath and wondered why.
Should he stop, dank choices willed,
or did he dream of bliss fulfilled?
A rose with thorns had scratched his voice,
yet it was him who made the choice.
Shitty stops in a city filled
with people lost, their passion killed.
So far down that spinning wheel,
his heart had yet to truly heal.
But then he saw with whom he rode
as they travelled down that weary road.
Brothers all and sisters too
they each resembled me and you.
He cracked a smile and wiped a tear
knowing he could make it here.
As people do, when times destroy
he’d find his way right back to joy.