It’s 1 am in the morning or at night,
As I sit here on my backyard patio
Smoking my cigarettes, thinking my thoughts.
And the wind picks up and rolls the dead leaves on the ground
Letting me know that the summer was over.
It is over, man. All over.
As the cigarette burns and the trees shake off the dead leaves
And I sit here and wonder,
Getting more drunker and older and cold.
I am on my seventh beer, and the night is still young.
But sadly, I am not young anymore, as I age by the minute
Rolling through my life like the dry yellow leaves blown by the wind,
Out of my mind and out of my youth.
I am not getting younger, but I always wanted to be strong,
To be a true man, gentleman, to be an independent person.
But I am so weak as I still depend on so many things
Like those cigarettes, like that beer, like that night,
Like those leaves and the trees in my backyard.
The air is getting colder, and the wind blows harder,
And I know I have to get back inside.
I have to get back to the house,
To my family, to my bed, to my life.
It is Friday night in Pennsylvania,
And all I have is another six hours of sleep
And another six-pack of beer, and there’s
Another three cigarettes left in the pack
To keep me going through the night like a renegade,
Like a monster, like a lost soul.
And just like that, another new poem came to be.
A fresh new poem after a while.
And I am happy to have you again.
It’s been a long time, my friend,
It’s been a long life.