Puffs Of Smoke

It’s marked in the eye of the sun,
It’s felt in the breath of the moon,
It’s mirrored in the reflection of the stars,
The wetness of lunacy bound
As the end of a nicotine-fed pipe
Shows faithfulness to my ashy lips
Like foghorns’ whispers to night-consumed ships.

Upon a balcony groped by the fetid nighttime,
I’m throned by a blue heart
Surging fiery red palpitations,
Glancing at the stretch of its damnation
In the cracks by the fists of the inebriated,
The cigarette scorches at the hands of fatherless spawns,
Tears of those loved by the sense of being loveless
For years longer than my breaths between each puff.
And as the lunacy morphs into drips,
Acknowledged in gradual sips,
My drying eyes feast on every spill
And my prayers for paradise near ill.

It is all seen,
In the bullets nested in unprepared hearts,
In the young Olivers suffering their Sikes’ twists of their dreams for more,
In the seas of redness taking the flower of virgin streets,
Endlessly seeping from the necks of mankind
Succumbed to slaughtered sheep
Professing miseries in endless bleats
And in the caviar fed  
And nightly champagne sippers
Professing godhood to the rest of us
By the grip of their plump wallets,
Staying true to iron fists
And dreading filled palms.
  

And puff…puff…puff,
Up go the rings of smoke
To endure their seconds of marriage to the sky
And to divorce her by the erasure of being,
Like my belief in the shift in earth’s scalding face,
Even with the blaze of sunrise in place,
Outdone by the lower inferno burning all around
As the heaven amidst this hell
Is my pipe still mouth-bound.


But within the swirling,
The dancing of the collective of ashes called “living”
The Lord still marvels at his stewards of creation
He truly loves them,
He truly loves us,
But do I?