Through the tiny honeycomb holes
his tortured words seep through
Cross legged, wide eyed,
mind pulsating we sat in blissful silence.
With the world outside muted
we dragged heavily the ciggarete smoke
consuming reality and time.
Legs tingled physically unrestricted
eased by circulating masseurs of
chemical harmony.
Cars passed by our window
an endless stream of life
Candles were given life, used and died.
Brothers in the arms of desperation,
bonded with a passion for escape.
Today I heard the song, it sounded the same
The singers dead now, ended his life
in the kitchen found dangling from the ceiling
Suspended in legacy.
The moment was great
yet the memory is packed with pain,
To reunite would turn the water in wine.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-may-be-dead-but-he-sounds-the-same/
