A General Warning
Smoke from pursed lips wafts and wends
Its crooked path from lung to grave,
For a second perched in my trembling hand,
Quiet like a wisp of snipe stuck in a hazy bog,
Trapped in a swamp of sin and vice,
As a cool death eyes my troubled ghost,
My wailing spirit, suckled by this dry teat
Lit by an orange light, a weary puff blown
By a whisp of breath, as pale fire
Burns the warp and woof of a tired soul,
But days and nights no longer matter,
Could that be death at my chamber's door?
The call of night too loud to silence,
A maddening rap upon the window
Of this threadbare, smoke-filled room,
Where sleepless on this bed, a casket really,
Through the floor I fall, into the ground,
Till with a final puff of smoke I am no more.
Copyright © Henrique Oliveira | Year Posted 2017
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment