Fixing His Train Wreck

Two lines in his head as straight as a die, Lead hard through the cold and the dark, Between the cliff walls of grime covered stone, Through tunnels carved straight out of rock, To the light at the end with love layered warmth, To the field of green, red and pink, Flowers escaping the grip of his demon, Where he allowed his split mind to rethink, About how he released his abandoned story, Left memories all quiet and still, Grew new healthy thoughts into streets of flavour, Over tracks, over gates, over hills, His once full and busy mental train wreck, Sits rusting at the start of the summer, Alone amongst millions of beautiful flowers, With their vividly transparent colour.