Burn

Just a touch of stress, so I burn. The day has been a mess, so I burn. The scorched leaf lingers after the burn. Holding regret in my fingers after the burn. This cloud is unpleasant and I wish to waft away. But this space is enclosed and scents tend to stay. So I would raise a small wand, a twig of white oak. And as one would do with fire, so I would do with smoke. The memories arise, as prompted by my nose, Of times around a pit, where warm energy glows. We would share stories in this pleasant light. We would laugh and eat and drink away the night. I am content to let these thoughts and memories chase, As they wash away the others, leaving not a trace. Basking in my mind, as the oak I burn. The contentedness I find, as the oak I burn. Erasing the regret, as the oak I burn. Until the next cigarette demands the oak I burn.