In the dim glow of a solitary night,
A cigarette burns with quiet grace.
Wisps of smoke rise, twirling in flight,
Leaving behind an ashen trace.

The ember’s glow, a small beacon bright,
Reflects the soul’s hidden despair.
Each exhale a gentle, ghostly sigh,
Lingering in the cool night air.

Shadows dance in the moon’s soft embrace,
As smoke weaves tales of times gone by.
The silent witness to a fleeting chase,
Between desire and a whispered lie.

Yet, in this quiet, a truth unfolds,
Smoke and ash, ephemeral and bold.
A fleeting moment, a story retold,
Of life’s fragility, in whispers cold.