Seraphim and Cigarettes
Tired cold tar stained fingers,
cigarette of mostly ash,
the fog of ancient thoughts hang,
Eyes closed dreamless void.
The radio hum of white noise,
whispers like seraphim,
tapped ashes and empty prayers.
Dissolving to heaven.
"Awaken you tired servant,
can you spare a light for me?"
Eyes closed to flickering flames,
speaking to nothing.
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