Carsten Thomsen

Joint At Deathbed - Poem by Carsten Thomsen

I smoked a joint
at my granddad’s deathbed.
In the living room of
childhood memories
Inhaling and Exhaling
blue plumes of smoke
Hours before he
drew HIS
last breath.

sitting at his deathbed.
as the grandfather clock struck
and the streetlamp outside the window
was turned on
and later off
I made my peace with God
and all consuming time

I smoked a joint
at my granddad’s deathbed
Putting my hand on
he spoke, his voice a pale whisper.
“Nothing can be done about it”
These last words to me
from a dying old man.

I smoked a joint
At my granddad’s deathbed.
Sweet soothing numbness
Held sadness and sorrow at bay.
Unspoken words of gratitude
milling around inside
but alas
a day too late.
and “nothing could be done about it”

I smoked a joint
at my granddad’s deathbed.
in cold cool contemplation
alone in the darkness, I understood:
All you hold dear will perish.
summer holidays,
And no,
“nothing can be done about it”

The Old Man was right

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Comments about Joint At Deathbed by Carsten Thomsen

  • Carsten Thomsen (8/19/2013 11:20:00 PM)

    loved my granddad, alas, he is no more.


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, September 29, 2007

Poem Edited: Tuesday, April 12, 2011

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