Born in perfection
A bony hand provides a flickering glow
Sucked into the midst of it
Sparks flicker and the very essence of yourself
Appears to burn away
In thick clouds of putrid smoke
The biting wind only assists the flame
Crumbling matter falls from your form
As the minutes tick by
Your creator, your master, your killer
Is extinguished
And reduced to a dim orange glow
But it's too late
The damage is done
Piles of cold, grey ashes surround you
You have ceased to exist.
This started out as a poem about life burning away but i then came up with the idea of giving it a double meaning so i guess its about smoking (1 of my fave pass-times) as well.
