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Love & Cigs

entry picture

The smell of fresh smoke lingers,

Dry cigarette ashes lay on my fingers,

It is not home, where I want to be,

It is only where the sun shines, that I can see,

 

As enchanting as our love may seem,

You could never be with someone who’s only freedom is just a dream,

No matter the endless effort I could promise to give,

I could never be your Prince Charming with where I live,

 

If I had a choice I’d choose to run away,

Then I could find a place for the both of us to stay,

With no money or chance to ever grow,

We would die peacefully in our lovely, broken home.

◄ Clipped Wings

Prisoner of the Mind ►

Comments

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Martin Elder

Tue 24th Apr 2018 09:25

Lovely poem Emaz. The title and opening lines put me in mind of an essay by George Orwell about cigarettes and books both of which were his passion.
This is a wonderful poem which is summed beautifully in the last verse.

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