It depends on which cards land, ‘cos the devils in the deal,
The King and Queen of Hearts are what you wish to feel,
So, pick them up, fan them out, take a look and see,
There’s the Jack of Clubs, his grinning back with glee,
And sitting just behind him is the ace of spades, bad luck,
Like the hand life’s dealt you; they don’t give a flying fuck.
The King and Queen will only be in your nightly dreams
And the Heart you so desire is much father than it seems.
“I’ll raise you ten,” he says, with an evil sneer,
You want to tear his face off, rip it from ear to ear,
Your watch your last silver dollar as it rattles into the pot
That’s it, your all up, it’s the last you’ve got.
Just one slender chance, you willingly embrace
Because nothing can now fill what is an empty space.
And nothing will leave you just about level,
Until you sell your vacant soul to Beelzebub the Devil.
You lose again, just like every fucking day,
So get up from the table, again you walk away.
Tomorrow is Valentines, a day of true romance,
When lovers reveal their passions, hoping for a chance.
Where wine and chocolates and bouquets of red flowers bloom,
And a thousand pairs of feet scuttle off to some hotel bedroom.
Where the lost and lonely sit and weep, in darkened empty homes
And stare at the blank glass screens of their silent mobile phones.
Where your life’s gambles lay in ruins upon the green baize
And those who’ve lost wander the streets in a lonesome daze.
When love is some distant recall which is hard to find,
Something fleeting, passing, just escaping your mind,
Where the fallen Jack of Hearts lays upon the floor
With one arm raised, finger-pointing, showing you the door.
© Paul White 2015
Hey, why not check out ‘Teardrops and White Doves’ a collection of my poetry. Available in a fully illustrated, full colour, Hardcover book direct from my printers, or as a standard Paperback from Amazon
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