A cigarette: A poem 

A puff of smoke, bad for the lungs 

A cough, a wheeze, coated tongue 

A harsh breath, trembling thumbs 

A little moment of life gone numb 

But the calm blank for the nerve 

does the rush of nicotine serve 

From the time-grown stalactites of the mind 

can worry’s refugee hastily unwind? 

The tide of life can be a bitter storm 

Even the fluffy pillows when day is gone 

offer no comfort through to dawn 

What pretty dreams can we depend on? 

To burn a little with a cigarette 

cools the traveler’s restless sweat 

Though the cost and price to pay 

makes it the worse off with each passing day 

Published by montecyril

Hi, I am Monte Cyril Rodrigues and live in Melbourne, Australia. I am a retired journalist. I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia. I've had voices and visions all my life. I think it is a spiritual experience, my doctors think otherwise. I am a deeply spiritual person and keep having experiences with otherworldly realms.

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