Poetry Box #7, 2011 - 2012

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Life and Death
by Morgan Bartlett
March 8, 2012

Pick a card
Any card
I see 7 choices, in the man’s hand.
Three are life.
Four are death.

The cards choose how you will turn out
within the next few moments.
I browse carefully
My eyes rolling back and forth
I pick a card randomly.
Turning it around
I see a dark card
Full of shadows
Black as the night
But a white dot lies silently in the center
As if it has never been bothered.

The man chuckles
With such cruelty
As he backs into shady walls
Taking a knife out of his pocket
He slowly cuts his own neck.
Blood dripping
like tear drops.
Then I never hear his voice again.

I’m running in the hard pouring rain.
Voices in my head, swirling like stirring soup.
I start to feel ill.
This card must be bad luck.

My stomach is twisted
With spiky knots.
I feel that hell is coming closer.
As if it is coating me
Like a cake covered with hot frosting.

I look up and see the devil’s face
Smiling at me with his sharp teeth.
He is about to lift me
And bring my body to hell.
What did I do?
I never asked for this

But then

A small light emerges from the dark card
pushing the devil back into the crimson portal

The black card represents death
although you can still live
maybe
It could have been the complete opposite
if I chose
the white card

 

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