Captive of probability.
Stacking the odds against you.
Each turn of the card
binds your fate,
ever certain.
Each sunrise
carves your name
deeper
into your tombstone,
until no act of God,
or nature
can remove it.
Ride high
on your shining chariot.
Emblazon the sky
with your egregious sins
and know
that every roll of the dice
brings you closer to the Earth.
Icarus inbound,
with no clearance to land.
Even if you touch down softly,
the Earth will be waiting
to receive you.
Maybe it’s better
to come in hot
and cut a deep groove
in the dry ground.
No tombstone,
no mausoleum;
just a place
where you scarred the planet
and altered the landscape
with your velocity.
It’s gonna come,
that last hand to play.
only God
and the dealer know
when the Death’s Head
will turn up.
Failed grace.
Ace of spades.
Pray for another day.
Doesn’t sound like you,
but it is;
it’s everyone.
We’re all gonna sit
and stack chips,
and eventually,
we’re all gonna fly
and try to touch the Sun.
We all know our fate;
it’s sealed,
our choices,
limited,
but at the same time,
somehow infinite.
And if I know you,
you’re already figuring out
another way to cheat.
HG – 2022
