Words Like Smoke

Ashtray full of dead cigarettes,
like sentences said and gone.
Some lay half smoked,
others burned down to the tip.
Words floating in the air,
like the stale smoke of the evening.

Conversations die as eve wears on,
nothing left to say after all is smoked.
The final strand of smoke rises,
goodbyes are imparted.
Protagonists leave the scene,
darkness hides all from view.

In the aether of the night,
smoke drifts around the room.
Stale odours seep into corners,
stale breath moves unnoticed.
Dust dances in the almost still air,
falling to floor after their flight.

Sunlight finally rises above horizon,
blasting light into the dark room.
Windows are opened,
life flows in.
All that was said and smoked,
lost to the breath of the new day.

©2012 Trevor Litchfield

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2 Comments

  1. Indigo Spider

     /  January 25, 2012

    There is a wistful and melancholic feel to this. Sad, thoughtful and still beautiful.

  2. Really good. Poetry like this doesn’t need a graphic (unless it’s a prompt I guess!)…it stands on its own and fills the reader’s head with his/her own dreamy vision. And I really like the ending.

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