Cigarette

In a softly lit cigarette,
with half an ash on the side,
stands the smoking mess;
The shades of yea and no.
I quit. I drool and glare.

Doorways open. Shut them.
There is no air out there.
Only a glowing gold statue
of the smoke, too scared.
I find that tomorrow
depends allot on today.

I'm out of touch, reborn.
With a song (who sings it?)
A ring, it is multiplying.
It is going and coming.
Once it was new, not now.
It was, and now, it is.

You are there. I see you.
In a bed lightly made.
There stood my essence.
Sitting down, it recreated
and still I am saved.
I quit. I drool and glare.
(What of it?)

Reviews

[Tai Ryens]

Amazing write, especially at the second to last stanza. That was by far the most cleverly written stanza that I have read recently, and with the other stanzas', it is made into a beautifully written poem. Keep up the hard work!

[Manpreet]

Nice work! I You simple subjects hold vast meaning.

[Leon R]

Absolutely amazing. Awesome write!

[bookworm]

You are an enigma to me. You spend half your time sending me other people's poems that don't touch your work. The send key should apologize to your brilliant fingers. This is shockingly good Michael. Believe it.