From Filthy Tongues of Gods and Griots

Black Smoke Rises

I miss the burning of my flesh.
Content in simple earthly pleasures
Meaning only in breath you censor.
Walk amongst the blessed,
Digress into false posture to assume role of coal-walker.
I seek my lost muse...
What must she feel right this instant?
Does my name even bring about vague distant memories?
Blurry bloodshot eyes scan a familiar candle lit room
I am consumed by these questions all too often upon my sad weary tongue.
Perhaps she will visit me
Here again someday
Only to find I am not the one she remembers
If she even remembers.

Black smoke rises to a heaven i do not know.
Slowly gaze to take in our sorrow.
Why question a life only borrowed?

I am surprised by my lack of resolve.
I thought I could be pure.
I thought I could endure winding lonesome road which still lies ahead.
I sit with hands upon chin in disbelief
Grieve the passing of my content.
I breath contempt for my surroundings.
Without consent grasp the hand of what man might be passing.
Do you hold the book housing answers?
Straight faced with laughter
Only comprehends my plight after.
Son I must have burnt that chapter.
I only want to recapture what was once mine.
Nothing is yours.
Shall I be lured upon same crossroads as Robert Johnson?
Only if you believe in myth.

Black smoke rises to a heaven i do not know.
Slowly gaze to take in our sorrow.
Why question a life only borrowed?

I miss that burning of your flesh.
I thought you once to be pure
How could we endure simple earthly pleasures when your own soul you censor?
I lost all truth as I tread that winding road
What I feel eternal is the bliss of my quiet grief.
I am but a distant memory.
The candle of thought long has been extinguished.
No man has no answer.
Let me rest this sad weary tongue.
My only true possession.

Black smoke rises to a heaven i do not know.
Slowly gaze to take in our sorrow.
Why question a life only borrowed?