Trite and Bitter.

As I loosen the ash
of the last cigarette of the night,
I feel trite, and bitter for it,
but dreams leak in
and words leak out,
and dashing through the night,
I feel a peaceful sleep come on
that makes it all alright.
The sleep's not mine,
my eyes are peeled
but my apprehension's gone.
With book and lap
and pen and pad
I quietly soldier on.
My bitterness fades and
lightness comes and
soon things seem okay.
I read some more
and write some more
and light one more today.