Terror
Strikes me when I’m without my cards,
Exposed to Time and all of his shards
Of blood and tears and childhood
Fears,
Unstoppable gears.

A wrinkly hand deals the deck,
Each card going on an exotic trek.
But this journey is one from which not all will
Return,
Oh, how I hate the way they would burn.
Their smoke would rise and fill my lungs,
Scorching my youth, parching my tongue –
A masterpiece left unsung.

But alas, I’ve been dealt a King!
…perhaps he is the one to secure my string.
But first I will need to rid these queens,
Ungodly leech, failed vaccine.
Let them char, by all means.

The cards are now coarse, much like their
Dealer,
Withered through use –
Immortal healer.
The Jokers are shuffled to the bottom of the stack,
A frame concealing an inerasable crack.

Oh! Grandma has just showed her Ace,
How to counter – I will not lose this race.
I search my field for an appropriate mate,
And, without hesitation, I draw an
Eight.