Beneath the pallor of a ghastly moon,
Echoes a tale of a soul’s grim fortune.
The wretched vice of smoking, a curse,
In our hearts, dread and fear it does immerse.
Darkened tendrils of its toxic mirth,
Seizing lives, stealing joy from Earth.
Innocent lungs, pure and light,
Now held captive in suffocating night.
Creeping silently, its damage unseen,
A lurking shadow, cruel and mean.
Its deceptive guise of comfort and calm,
Hides a grim reaper beneath its charm.
But lo! Within the gloom, a hopeful ray,
A means to chase the somber clouds away.
In the form of trance, a guide to cessation,
Hypnosis shines, offering salvation.
With words gentle as a lullaby’s verse,
The hypnotic script undoes the curse.
Broken, the chains of the toxic plight,
Freed, the soul from the endless night.
In the heart of dread, blooms a joyous tale,
Of a lost soul’s journey from a stormy gale.
The vice discarded, the spirit unbroken,
In hypnosis, the spell to quit smoking spoken.
So here ends our tale, from dread to elation,
A testament to the power of imagination.
For in the mind’s depth, a truth does stir,
Freedom from fear is what we prefer.
All the Best, Connie
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