Beacons

This is a poem about smoking. Burning through a pack of Ten. Ten moments in time. Ten streams of conciousness. Ten pauses.

 

The first? A smoke screen hiding inner fears.

The second blasts the fear, yes every trace.

Third one  blows up clouds that squeeze out ashen tears;

Fourth a signal, steeling jaw in tired face.

 

Fifth a hazy day dream full of fierce desire.

The sixth an inferno. Lustful. Burning bright.

Seventh draws memories, both joyous and dire.

When up in smoke, eighth burns away perceived fright.

 

The ninth smoulders, impregnating cloth and skin,

Tenth leaves marks, welts of ash, ground in deep, like sin.

 

 

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Beacons

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s