Cigarette smoke from
The ash tray rises
Dancing grey
To its final home
Yellow stains
Upon a painted ceiling
An artists canvas
Dried and alone.
Nicotined fingers speak
Of many years
Dampened eyes
So many fears
And the walls insist
Remaining mute
Stretched in paper
Memories loose.
Like a place
Never seen before
A face at window
Life behind a door
A place that you
Will never see again
Yet still remains
To pertain.