my shortest poem
fold,
he said looking at the ceiling
The masters at the table
they’re scaring me to the bones
my cards look like something
only a jackass may hold
but the mirror of my hand
resides only in my eyes
and the fear in my heart
can be turned into lies
my lips pulling in
the sweat freezing still
the shivers in by spine
becoming nil
the doubts and the trembling
emotions and thoughts
turn cold to the sound
of the battles I fought
and reason is cold
as any good act
I raise my head and
move to attack
I look at my hand
for one last time
I silently pray
and bid it good-bye
I’m going all in
and the world rests still
but what matters the most
are desire and will
Elena RKH 5 Jun 2015
wow well done!
weird one.
i can go aristotelic logic+some presumtion based on empiric experience and imagine the aces in the flop are not helping anyone, except the one who uses the scare factor.
so again, being obsessed with resurrecting the theatrical bluff, I go all in!
i smile.
i look them in the eyes.
thing is, if my presumption is right, the ace is not there.
if all logic and experience are to be true, i am in a top spot now. not in a ideal one, not even good enough to drag people along, not good enough to milk cash, no, just good enough to take a shot at getting the hand.
it's either this, or fold later on, but... i have an obsession right now, I need to grab this one and show 'em my cards at the end.
Elena RKH 4 Jun 2015