Poetry-Thing Thursday: Just Be It Soon

Smoke curls around me,
drifts toward the window.
I take hits as I see,
it swirling in limbo.

An ember glows through darkness.
Shadows flare like caricatures on my face.
I exhale as all this,
is forced on a current from this place.

Like smoke I whirl and weave.
Through space and time.
Born to deceive.
Fight and die for the dime.

Still I sit,
at odds with fate,
ever ready for another hit,
and dinner, with death, for a date.

There is no compulsion,
greater than man’s lust.
No matter his revulsion,
at betraying those whom have his trust.

So wax philosophical, folk.
Or wane like a falling moon.
Or carry on the wind like smoke.
Whatever you be,
just be it soon.

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