S M O K E  &  M I R R O R S


Dear Poet,

Please do tell us,

Do say. SPEAK

Of what is “Human”?


Writing writing writing

Again & again

About love &


And Mr. Blake,

Always writing

About all those winged angels above

Whilst Lucifer

Sits alone in his

Basement still sulking over

His big breakup

With God.

To be

Or not to be

Love, love me do,

Do you still love me?

Are we through

Etc etc etc.


But the real, the same question

Still and always remains.

What is love?

What does it mean?

And is it ever enough?


For the sirens

Are still all singing upon

the shores,

And the muses are all still

Dancing upon

The waves

Of Humanity

To inspire.

The next.

The last.

The true.

The dead.

So is this what it

Is to be? Or not to

Be?  Exist or to not exist at all

As the universe merely spins away.

To feel

With consequence

Or hate?

But my dear poet;

God or savior

It all forever stays the same.

As you light up another cigarette

And slowly exhale the smoke

Into the dark night

Like words.

For it’s all done

With smoke & mirrors


R.M. Engelhardt  2011

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