Fire and Brinston

I twist the soft brown weed
between my fingertips
Rolling it
back and forth

Savoring the first breath
dreading the last
I step into this world
of old wood and darkness

Laughing over unheard jokes
filling the space before sleep
waiting for the night to end
to end

And I awake
step back out
stub it out
alive.

Added June 17, 2007
By Bob "LastPoet" Seal