Ace Hands
Out of the wreckage I lumber,
Wounded, and a wounder.
A fool. An ass. A flounder
Who hurt three best friends
In one foul swoop.
But still the cards are hidden from me.
I can't play this game any longer.
So I hold onto to my surest cards,
My oldest singers and my bards,
Hug them close to my chest and
Pray
to whatever governs the rules of happiness,
That even when the stack of cards come crumbling from my hands,
When my ace becomes a one,
When my queens become jackasses
And my knights ride away from me into the setting sun -
That
I will still be standing, with one last card.
There is always someone
Willing to play for you, to play with you.
They stand by you
Through the thick and thin.
And those that return,
Those that stay,
Those that can’t help but flutter
Back and forth, within your lines,
That's when you spy their ghost in the machine.
So hold on, if you can.
For the stronger you hold, the more ghost they become.
It's a light touch, it's a smooth current
Your hand is your one for a reason.