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.

Smoke spelled out in smoke

Smoke ©

Just playing with an idea and words...

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Copyright 2017 © Ronald W. Hull


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