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)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem