In the haze of silver clouds, it lingers near,
A gentle whisper, yet so cruelly clear,
Dancing tendrils in the night, a fleeting friend,
Promises of solace, but where do they end?

A flicker of flame, a spark ignites the dark,
Each breath a story, each puff a mark,
Swirling dreams in the misty air,
Yet beneath the illusion, a silent despair.

Hands that tremble, holding the fragile stick,
Moments of calm, but the clock’s relentless tick,
In the quiet corners, shadows softly weep,
For the smoke that binds, secrets to keep.

Oh, the bittersweet embrace of the curling smoke,
A fleeting comfort, a whispered joke,
In the depths of night, where shadows conspire,
The silent whisper of smoke, a fading fire.