Searching through the forest,

chasing dreams your sleep has wagered

 

And finding yourself in the mindless

spatial wasteland

 

You play two-handed poker

with the devil of your fright

 

The Prince holding just one card,

as you gamble it all…

 

Forever promising:

“This hand will be your ticket out”

 

He deals chance from the bottom,

this third time to be the charm

 

Your hand is folded,

as the present fires upon the night

 

Hitting your fate dead center,

all that’s left in quicker sand

 

Drowning the last excuse

of your bloodless past refusals

 

Salvation left in full retreat

—all exits thrice denied

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)