Impasse

Beethoven heard the silence.
He created poetry with his fingers,
Just as your hands did,
When they grasped mine.
I see my friends,
Powder a crystal,
Serving as their kaleidoscope,
I wonder if that’s how I smashed
What we had?
But you see, my life’s kaleidoscope
Is you.
Through the cigarette smoke,
All I see are wisps of you.