[for critique] The Quitting Song

[amul]

I once wrote a poem I was quite proud of
Back in that brief era
When coffeehouses were still cool and
I could smoke indoors without Mother finding out

It was a song of loss and patience
About a boy who no longer cared who was right
Waiting for his chance to make amends
In that place where lonely souls gathered

There was a rhythm to the words
Which matched the beat of his crouching
Methodical apathy
A sip of my coffee, a puff on my cigarette

Sip. Puff.

Sip. Puff.

Back then, the apartments were tiny
Cramped and full of cameraderie
Always, I ached to be Out And About,
Dreaming Of Homes To Be Built

Sip. Puff. Sip. Puff.

I built my dreams around another
Tore them apart and
Built myself new dreams
With only one foundation

Built a tower meant just for me
Rid myself of unwanted habits and
Found the kind of serenity
I yearned for in Father's house

Sip. Sip.

Sip sip, sip.

This warm hearth crackles just as I wished
This kitchen smells just as I dreamed
But I cannot find a comfortable rhythm
To my idleness

Sip.

Sip sip.

Sip, sip.

Perhaps it is time to seek new dreams.

Sip. Sip. Sip sip, sip.

Sip. Sip.

Sip.