You hold the deck with steady hand,
Each card you play, you think you've planned.
You shuffle well, you deal with flair,
But never notice what's not there.
The table's set, the stakes are high,
But something's missing in your eye.
You think you see the winning move,
Yet no one's left to watch you prove.
The chips pile up, you think you've won,
But don't quite see the setting sun.
The cards you hold feel strong, secure,
But none of them can make you sure.
You bluff, you smile, you play your part,
But never guess the fragile start.
Each hand you play, you think you're bold,
Yet somehow every play grows cold.
And when the game is done at last,
You look around at what has passed.
The cards still sit, the chips still stand-
But you've been playing your own hand.
YOU ARE READING
When Silence Wept
PoetryIn this collection of poetry, the veil is torn away, revealing the undercurrents of darkness that run through the human experience. These poems are raw and relentless, exploring the spaces where light fails to reach, and the truths we fear most come...
