I watch the smoke drift up and up.
From the end of the slim white stick.
Ashes falling, cold and powdered.
Paper burning, hear it singe.
Almost done, the empty filter now filled of tar.
Burns my lips, stings my throat.
Finish it off right to the filter.
Lets mourn the loss and watch the toss.
From flame, ashes, paper and cotton.
What was here is now no more.
Now it lies wet and soggy,
On the bottom of that rain puddle.
What did you think
Comments
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BENSON AND HEDGES.
This is my favourite poem by you. I love how you made a poem about something as beautiful as cigarettes, sound so depressing.
"Lets mourn the loss and watch the toss."
I love how you conveyed cigarettes, which are simply just paper sticks filled with nicotine, as something so precious that you would mourn for them after they're finished.
I also love your imagery in the last line,
"Now it lies wet and soggy,
On the bottom of that rain puddle."
Beautiful piece Alana, keep writing.
-Catherine.
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