Stairwell To Heaven

Knock, knock, knock, is there anybody home?

Vacant inside, unfit to even write a poem

Then there is a knock, it’s Ian at my door

He knows where to look when it’s a dube he wants to score.

I was already rolling, Ian rolled in & waited

An after dinner joint, much anticipated

We smoked it in the stairwell, out the window

All of a sudden, I’m no longer so low.

Enjoying the sensations of the boldy I rolled

What is to come will eventually unfold

Now in this moment I focus on what’s right

For all that is wrong, the end may be in sight.