A Lighted Cigarette Begins To Burn

 

A Lighted Cigarette Begins To Burn

 

A lighted cigarette begins to burn,

In the quiet darkness of my room,

While somewhere a baby is born,

And somewhere a baby is aborted,

Someone makes love with someone,

Someone makes love with themself,

Someone kills someone,

With a knife, with a gun, with hands,

Does it matter how one kills or is killed,

Someone joins the army,

Someone who joined the army comes home,

Some come home in caskets,

Some come home in wheelchairs,

Some never come home,

Does it matter,

What does it matter,

A woman cries, a man cries, a child cries,

A woman laughs, a man laughs, a child laughs,

Does any of this matter,

Do I matter,

Do you matter,

What does matter is words stashed and smashed between,

When a lighted cigarette began to burn and when,

A lighted cigarette is extinguished with useless thought.

 

Many years ago in high school for the school’s literary magazine, I published in it a poem I titled “A Lighted Cigarette Begins To Burn.”

Over time the magazine and my poem were lost, as was my yearbook.

What I wrote above was just a fond remembrance of an early effort.

By Peter Klein, author of his recently published poetry book: “Creation Dream.” If I publish another, maybe this will be part of it.

Thanks for tanking the time to read this.