Smoke

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Where ever I turn I see your smoke,
It seems you’ve left your mark.
In the dark it takes its shape,
Floats around aimlessly, clouding my vision.

It curls from your lips slowly escaping,
Seducing the wind, against the pitch black sky,
Its grey dirty colour takes over,
Eclipsing the moon.

Slowly seeping silently,
It unwinds carefully.
It almost looks,
Just like a hand,

Calling forth the darkness,
To devour and transform it.
In an instant it is gone,
Only to be replaced,

By another long
Thick thrashing thread,
Of deadly, dreadful
Choking, chasing curling smoke.

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