My voice was a silent scream in the wind.

young lovers
know who
we are
and
we shall not die
if
we write
our names
in gold
across
the sky

“I’m all in,” the gambler grinned, and
Pushed his chips toward the center of the table.
“Been playin’ hard, finally pulled the card,
You can call if you are able.
It’s all or nothing, - final ***.
Call me.  Show me what you got.

C’mon Man, you hesitatin’ ?
Take your time, I’ll sit here waitin’.


C’mon MAN, you think I’m BLUFFIN’?
Think I’m sittin’ here with NOTHIN’?


C’MON MAN!  Let’s GET THIS DONE!
DON’T ACT LIKE YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE
WITH MORE THAN POKER ON THE LINE
FOLD or CALL ME, EITHER’s FINE!

But don’t just sit and stare at me,
And make your judgement silently
I need to win.  I want it all,
For God’s sake, Man, please fold or call


The silent Man called.  

“Son,
Life’s a gamble and she’s dealt us all some bitter hands.
So when you been ‘round long as me
You begin to understand
Don’t matter if you win this time
Eventually you’ll lose
The stakes keep getting bigger, and
Some day you’ll have to choose
Between losin’ everything you got
And keepin’ something dear
And another thing I’ll wager, Son, that you don’t want to hear
Is while the *** keeps getting bigger, the odds get longer too
Sometime soon old lady luck will turn her back on you.”

The Silent Man laid his cards on the table.

“Each day’s a brand new poker hand
Some you win, and some you bluff,
Now you show me what YOU have,
We’ll see if it’s enough.”

PwL, March 29, 2016

The way you can't look at me,
'cos I'm not the little girl I used to be;
your tired recollection
of each gene in recession;
your knife heart, sad heart,
raised by a bad heart--

but I decided it’s worth battling your
droopy-eyed disapproval;
but I want to run into this fog
with my arms open wide;
but I always thought I’d rather burn in the fire
than die in my sleep.

Gandhi once said,
"Your Christians are so unlike your Christ"
or something to that effect.
He was right.
If god was real why would he not avert his eyes?
As we maimed and ***** and slaughtered,
for the seven hundredth time.
Human beings were broken from the start.
First we killed with sticks and stones,
then transformed warfare into art.
A bitter joke indeed.
Cavernous capacity for compassion competes
with the inner beast.
Rapid acceleration  towards the exit,
planet's just gaspin' it's last breathes, death rattle.
Perpetuated by laws of desperate escalation,
accessible weapons outweigh the estimation.
Lack of communication marks the end, tower of babel.