Sober Lane

I’ve often wondered

if happiness

was some rare bird of paradise

once seen and sketched

before disappearing forever.

A myth like the garden of eden

that tortured and taunted us

and haunted our dreams

all down these years.

Till we chased it

through forbidden pleasures

and hidden treasures

chemicals passed through hidden hands

paradises built on shifting sands.

The thing about getting sober

nobody tells you

is there’s no more avoiding

the pain you’ve been hiding

from all these years.

You’ve got to trudge through it,

like Shackleton in snow

or Tom Crean,

when one day you

feel joy,

it’s real,

and the laughter,

that’s real,

and your smile

is not hiding anything,

and the darkness was just a dream,

and you’re alive,

again.