Swirling smoke rises from the ashes,

Vanishing into the ether in ephemeral dances,

From the smoldering embers of our life,

Burned beyond recognition still we survive,

Silent screams get tossed and lost in the unknown,

Residual tones repeating in the echoes,

Palms are sweaty, fists are clinched,

Heart beats hard, whole body is stiff,

Swirling smoke vanishes like sand through our fingers,

Others like to snicker, their sneers always linger,

Thoughts race faster, worrying about imaginary disasters,

We climb up the rafters to try and escape our captors,

Yet they reside in our heads, filling us with dread,

We know nothing about living life, but we’re always concerned about our inevitable deaths,

Scratch till our fingers bleed, push till our bodies lay in defeat,

The clues are always discreet, as thoughts are inclined to mislead,

Taking 2 steps forward and 3 steps back,

Still we march onward, even though we’re always off track,

Teeth are grinding as our souls remain in hiding,

Instinct keeps us fighting, igniting like strikes of lightening,

Cracking through the air like thunder,

Picking ourselves up, dusting off the rubble,

As we wake up everything is born a new,

Miracles surround us leaving clue after clue,

The mind plays tricks leaving us clueless,

In our heads we find our Judas, torturous and ruthless,

Judas leaving us betrayed, we try to pray but left feeling dismayed,

Actions are delayed, always unseen living in others shade,

Yet the sun is a mirror, shining forth on both saints and sinners,

Truth remains unclear, dimming in time year after year,

Leaving us zombies, mindless and unhappy,

Happy in our misery, victory lost in history,

A downward slope slippery, full of lies chicanery,

Always told what to be and never be what we are,

A life full of beauty replaced with memories full of scars,

Everything we know came from the world and people outside,

Like swirling smoke we rise and disappear as our souls die,

We stitch our broken wings and try to fly,

Still they won’t work as we fall from up high,

Down to the earth, remains in the gutter,

Life can be a mess like garbage in a dumpster,

Yet we are the artists and we are the sculptors,

Cleaning out the gutters, open to a world of wonders,

Voices have us paralyzed, can’t move at all,

No matter how big we are we feel smaller than small,

Chills run down our spine as we hear the devils call,

Welcoming one and all to their funeral ball,

Life is short nothing is piddling,

Demons are giggling, body trembling,

The darkness is threatening, yet still somehow welcoming,

I wish I could be something, instead of always being this nothing,

Just swirling smoke, in lungs they strangle,

Chained to the ankle, just a burnt out candle,

Ashes get trampled, spirit is crippled,

This rhyme is a riddle, a lake that doesn’t ripple,

A scribe of symbols, making something out of scribbles,

Just swirling smoke rising from the embers!

—TerrySalmon—