The fearless four and me

I sit dealing stud,
In this broken bar,
With a dusty floor,
Drinking whiskey from a dirty glass,
I chew on this spent fat Cuban,
Of whom a humbling taste it did impart,
Now nothing but wisps of mist on this stale and lifeless air,
I play my dead hand with a bluff as with my life before this demise, I see my sins played across their blank stares,
But with a flicker of a smile played across my greying lips,
As war, famine, conquest and death twitch ye not, Unfazed by my misdirection,
As one more Cohiba lights my world,
I play on as this house holds all the cards,
My hand of four ace of spades tells of my fate,
The ethereal nothingness beyond the swing doors in lifelessness, Is known beyond these squeekless hinges,
And the breathless air,
As I sit killing time in the waiting room of my own weaknesses, Indulgencies I wrap myself within,
I have lived in disregarded of others, And seen my own gratifications satisfied,
Within this dream of being humble beyond my weakened grasp, No band of angels or sweet chariot to carry me home on my horizon, I have bathed in my all my contentment’s,
And wallowed beyond all my tolerances,
I have lived rich on the fat of my land,
But have always known my limitations and pushed beyond, And now my pipes are calling me on back,
The ashen face bar man rings my final last order bell,
And this eternity awaits me,
I will send a postcard,
And wish you were here,
And not me,
No twelve honest men to hear my appeal,
I will linger forever in this pit of hells feasses,
And as the cold winds wail she lays flowers,
Upon the cold dead earth,
In her blackened hooded cape,
She will cry over my remains,
Once every week,
Through shimmering glass from below I feel her warm tears fall, And in final realization I see what I threw away,
And wish to be whole once more, But weight in the balance and I was found wanting, In torment I remain,
I can no longer move mountains,
I can no more run from me,
I see western winds blow clouds beyond my grasp, And die as I lived,
Falling jus too short,
And as it clicks in to place,
I realise in my wasting time,
And I am done.

Mixed wood dish, built around a stump of African Blackwood. More on Bespoke Woods Facebook page


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