I Turn To My Pipes - A poem of Smoking and being Homeless

This came to me as I passed the 700 hit mark on the blog for the month... kind of a thanks, and explanation. 

They all forget
I have nothing left
to keep my sanity
but the pipes.

They should cheer
that only tobacco enters
those precious old briers
instead of drugs.

But, being employed
with roof over head
and walls around them
they often forget.

And I turn once more
to these old, worn friends
filling them with my blends
or just straight Cavendish tobaccos
to find some simple relief.

I should fly,
hold that cardboard sign
out on cold corners
to get some.

But I resist
that temptation for tonight
seeking instead to stay
healthy and warm.

Besides, if desperate,
I'll stick a pipe
into my mouth, empty
just for flavor.

I turn away this time
not out of funds lacking
(though indeed they are gone)
to find out, for sure,
how much those pipes help.

Fighting the urge
but the will weakens
not from addiction, perhaps
but shear frustration.

Each time lit
those pipes give me
just a tiny hope
of ending this.

Not life, no.
Just the homeless part,
and the missing job,
to rejoin society.

And I turn once more,
now with a healthy defiance
knowing others see these smokes
as evil incarnate despite being
more legal than skunk weed...
...or perhaps, that is the issue.
That or mine smells better.
26September2013 - Dyfedd Rex