Monday, February 18, 2013

The Hypocrite

He held his pipe,
For the usual smoke.
Out came no puff,
He gave a long sulk.

The shank was blocked-
out came the filter;
with a stick he probed,
the mass causing halter.

The bowl was filled,
with lots of black goo.
With disgust he cringed;
(And) disposed it without ado.

A stench it possessed,
that ceased leaving the room.
So nauseating it felt
he plunged into gloom.

"'Dis what I smoke?"
Popped his angel and demon;
"I warned you so!!!"
The angel gave a sermon.

He nodded obedient, and
a promise was to constitute.
"I will never smoke!
And others will follow suit!"

He polished the pipe,
for one last while.
On looked the demon,
not causing any rile.

"I deserve one puff,
for old times' sake."
The angel scowled in vain,
unable to prevent his take.

He put the tobacco,
and lit it slowly;
Took one long drag,
that hit him instantly.

He reclined in bliss,
the angel broke his halo;
the demon gave a smirk
who made an exit, mellow.

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