The life of a lit cigarette is short lived
but simple as it may seem
it's life has more meaning
than what it is lead
It is selected with random
and sometimes with no choice at all.
Then Recognized for what it is,
a promise to remember
or a pact to forget.
It is gently held like a child
tween two lips
Be they gentle or rough
young or old, cared for by makeup
or torn by scars.
A fire is lit and the fag adopts
the sacred life.
It fizzes and smokes, hisses and whines,
the tobacco whithin burns steadily
to become powdery ash, which is deposited
into a tray and forgotten.
When everything is burnt
smoked, corroded in tar
and rushed to the brain,
a smoking butt is unceremoniously
snuffed into a stinky tray,
or flicked to spark against wet pavement
So, whatever the occasion
or for the sheer hell of assossiation.
Keep in mind it is a part of you,
and it has given it's life
to fullfill your needs
and satisfy your wants.
So give it a Thanks
Besides, anyone who would argue
that a cigarette has no life
of it's own has never had one
go out at five in the morning at Dennys
© Bass Switala