Smoking at Dawn

If the wind smells of the past,
Its because were looking for the scent
Breaking down the walls,
of the things we choose to forget
Waking and taking your time,
to retire again and beg the question
Was it you that I hear?

If the wind smells wrath,
and of future content
Its because were waiting,
waiting for something different
Or maybe not different,
just a change from the past
a little tug from existence

The smoke fills the lungs,
like hope fills the heart
In the morning it comes,
the buzz of the drag,
or the desire for a change
both alter our senses
and make the day seem okay

Smoking at dawn we must,
act on our urges
The flame is small,
like the hope of the day
but the fire still burns
and the ash floats,
like dreams of tomorrow.