'tween the grey and the sage
Ther' be nary fair room
for talk, negotiation
as that's how it goes,
when weakness fears strength,
and thus senses pawn
to strengths silent stance
and their turn of the cards,
dealt and divided
like Kings and Queens...
of opposite suits;
while the Dealer vouchsafes
from afar, for he knows
the action and outcome
be an immeasurable fold...
from hands crucified
by their own wood and nails
Someone find a crown, please...
for a changing of the guard
The Russians are coming,
to play Poker with Abaddon.
they have no other choice;
problem is...they are coming
to the table of power
without hammers nor sickles,
and the Dealer guffaws
at the game that they play
when the discards would suggest
a more dangerous game
of Russian Roulette
with a full metal jacket
against their own heads.
FjR-MMXV
-Repost-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem