Smoke curls in blue-grey wisps
As I sit before the ashtray
My glass is half full
But my heart is empty
I take a drink
The scotch is warm and full
Like a honeyed baritone
A soft flush spreads across my face
And every comforting thing I'd ever known
Is remembered in an instant
Too brief to truly see
Like the scotch
All that remains is a billowy impression
I stare at my couch
With its thick padding and matching pillows
Pressed together like sweethearts
Nestled into one another
My cigarette gives up one last drag
Before I crush it out
I am not bored
Just quiet as warm earth
Everything stands still
In the gentle beige light of my home
And it's good
Outside, the pale, sleepy blue sky
Is an ocean
Full of cottony icebergs
Floating to a dream land
Under my feet, the hard grey parking lot
Reminds me that even the most ardous trek
I have ever taken
Was worth it in the end
I smile as I realize
No matter how far I roam from here
This will always be my destination
And I look forward to it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem