One Left Unsmoked

 

A hooded face with a crooked grin
The man in the corner was smiling
Her coffee poured, she sat and stared
Her thoughts prepared were wandering

She sent the checks, she paid the bills
She called her daughter, took her pills
She told her son she loved him twice
The night they went and signed her will 

Enough, the man in the corner said
The time has come for this to end
Now wipe your eyes and join me here
For eighty years you've breathed and bred

But wait, she cried, I did forget 
To watch the sun and shadows set
Too many roads I haven't walked
Or rocked the babes not birthed of yet 

Apologies, he sneered, and raised his scythe
And the world turned black and demons cried
Angels bellowed and clouds appeared 
She feared she would not see the Light

A man in glasses dressed in gold
Came forth to her and raised his scroll
With trembling legs she bent her knee
And solemnly she bared her soul

I haven't lived, I haven't seen
So many moments lost between
The keeping up with time and task
I ask you, send me back, I plead

Behind his scroll he rolled his eyes
Mortals are never satisfied
For eighty years you've had a chance 
To dance and fly, to dream and write

A cigarette sits on a plate
Unsmoked, a happening of fate
Never once her lungs to touch
For nothing much of life will wait.

◄ Wheatfields

The Undergroundsmen ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message