He rolls another cigarette.

Fingers aged with time,

Coloured yellow with excess,

Curl then smooth the paper.

As eyes, dimmed with the years,

Watch the world pass him by.

 

He has no need to hurry.

He watches

Just watches

As the souls dance before him

Their decadent, self serving song

Is no longer to his liking

 

He sighs

Breath stale and shallow

Like pages

From a dusty book

His mouth could tell a thousand tales

Each one tall, each one hollow

 

For what do the youth of today care

Of the stories of yesterday?

 

Instead he watches

Bitter?  Perhaps a little,

But what do you care?

He watches as our world speeds by

 

Slowly,

He rolls another cigarette.