Smoke
Like a far-off distant mist,
smoke rises, signaling grist,
a fire somewhere deep within,
a fire smoldering like a sin.
Masking something hidden behind,
through the haze of the mind,
shaping, shifting in the wind,
were they seen to have sinned?
Speaking messages as if true ,
blowing smoke to me and you.
Alternate facts are spread around,
floating like smoke and just as sound.
Inhaling smoke is such a curse,
coffin nails leading to a hearse,
nicotine high and breathing low,
hooked on a habit dying slow.
All that burns is not fire,
sometimes it's just rising ire.
Sometimes when you go for broke,
all your plans go up in smoke.
So if you're planning to take a toke,
just remember, you're sucking smoke.
Life isn't always wise... it cries,
when smoke gets in the eyes.
Copyright 2017 © Ronald W. Hull
2/9/17
Always,
Deborah
Love ya!
Jane
David
And fine writing indeed.
your poet's pen on fire.
Your writing is amazing,
and you always inspire.
Rebecca
blowing smoke to me and you.
Alternate facts are spread around,
floating like smoke and just as sound." Indeed.