I'm Coming Home

At the age of seventeen, I justified
my thoughts as opium
soothed a feverish
young lady.

Those were the days when bare toes
mated with dirty eyes,
and all was calm
within our world.

As the winds circle my pen,
I become insensitive
to the wrinkles,
swallowing me whole.

My tongue lashes out
at cruelty, bringing me
to my knees-

In the past it was for pleasure,
now it's for forgiveness,
how can I live out
this opera of nightmares
when all I desire is peace?

I retreat often to the times
of moistening lamp oil,
herbs of delight,
consuming every poetic word
spewing from an elders
feeble imagination-

realizing soon,
I'll be the elder...

(lights up a cigarette and ponders)