It was two forty four,
And now forty five.
It is finally time,
Time to go home.

The sun shines bright,
As I progress outside.
The bus awaits.
It is ready to take me home.

Road by road,
Hill by hill,
I can feel it.
I am almost home.

I descend the bus steps,
And happen to look down a road.
Towards a house,
That has always been my home.

I am almost there.
I am so close to the door.
I pause for a moment,
And open the door.

I know that it was not safe,
For me and for everyone there.
But what was I?
To change something as precious as my home.

I coughed as I entered,
Blinked twice to see.
A linger filled the air,
And smoke was practically everywhere.

I headed for my room.
And there, I stood,
Dazed and tired.
Then, I suddenly cried.

It was my fault, I mourned.
I should have tried!
My home was my home,
My air was mine!

Silence took place,
Then I blinked and coughed at my dismay,
Knowing what my home had become,
Knowing what it could have been,
If I had only...

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Sidenote

A poem that describes,
A boy with much regret,
Who now thought that it was too late,
To change what became his hate.

But it is never too late,
For a home to be smoke-free.
Since only a little work is needed,
To make one's home healthy.

Parents be cautioned,
Of what downsides you may bring.
A home is for the whole family,
Since that is where everyone lives.

In all, smoking causes cancer.
And addiction, it may bring.
So try to make your home free,
And health and reason it shall lead.