In the haze of twilight’s gentle glow,
A wisp of smoke begins to rise,
Twirling in the air, a silent show,
A fleeting moment under endless skies.

The ember’s warmth, a fleeting friend,
Whispers secrets in the night,
As shadows dance and then descend,
In smoky tendrils, taking flight.

A comfort found in swirling grey,
Yet hidden chains lie in its charm,
As every breath pulls life away,
A subtle grip, a silent harm.

In quiet moments, truth appears,
The fragile line ‘tween choice and fate,
As smoke dissolves and vision clears,
We ponder paths before too late.