both welcoming and forbidding;
it invokes a past;
a past that’s rarely understood and often overlooked,
it conjures a future;
a future that’s both desperately won and hopelessly lost.
Like a match; igniting in an instant,
with a ball of light and a hissing snap;
a microcosm of purest intensity,
and yet lingering all the same;
Leaving that most sweet of tastes.
The world feels naked; renewed, revitalised.
Like an intense light,
slicing through the bleak canopy above;
a divine hand reaches to pull you from your nihilism,
and you find yourself floundering;
so alive and yet hopelessly detached.
To you; nothing else matters,
and yet nothing really mattered anyway.
Circumstance bellows down,
breathing life into your essence once more.
Like a match, your world ignites.
A flurry of light,
a crash of thunder,
an ounce of hope…
You’re able to see the starry night, in all its glory;
you even reach out and caress its azure glow.
Lightening, having heroically teared through the darkness, vanishes once more.
A wisp of joviality, that recedes into nothingness.
fleeting renditions of almost trivial wonder.
The resultant cigarette;
hedonistic toxicity, feigning as something grander.
The truth is palpable;
we are left here,
children stranded amongst the waves,
waiting for the next thrash.
Each thrash knocks us back, and keeps us down,
the only difference is;
for the briefest of moments,
we remember how it felt to breathe again.
She turns her head away.
I breathe out.
Only smoke remains.