Coffee and cigarettes
they are a constant friend,
A smoke screen, defense
means to an end.
Smoke rises from the burning end
intricate patterns in the air,
Young people with glazed looks
found every where.
The pace of life is
Fast yet slow,
Things move in a
Constant flow.
Each days is different
and same,
Every moment, the same.
Old game.
It all comes down to this
place, the coffee-house,
People gather to seek refuge
from playing cat and mouse.
Through the smoke, the constant
chatter, a sense of isolation prevails,
Take a sip, taken in some smoke, an escape
when all fails.
Coffee and cigarettes
they are constant friend.
I like this one. Aptly rhymed.
ReplyDeleteIts a new form you tried and its excellent.
ReplyDeleteAs a poem ots supperb. But somehow I wish I knew how to play a guitar.Feel like adding some tunes to it already.... I dont knwo what your take would be on that but its like a song..
ReplyDelete