The Gambler
Poetry
Mischief leaves a trail, It is an insecure state of being, It scrutinises every detail, Hoping that lies are left, unseen.
Yet there is a scent that follows, An image that blinds, It is smelt from distant burrows, It can be sensed from far and wide.
It is the tendency to do too much, The inability to just be, A restless heart’s constant crutch, Lost and tangled in uncertainty.
The deceitful are handicapped, Paralysed by their insincerity, Their honesty is forever capped, Trapped in a cycle of false reality.
Some may lie for good reason, Or at least, they convince themselves, as such, Bending truths with the seasons, Their narratives are littered with falsehood’s touch.
Sometimes, a lie is like a debt, A ticking clock, a race to pay, It is made with a hidden threat, A gamble to delay the truth’s display.
In a wicked game of twisted fate, Where both players dance with eyes askew, The liar spins tales, gambling away with perilous faith, The deceived willingly embraces the skewed.
A duet of mischief, like an old Shakespearean tale, They wager trust upon deception’s dice, Hoping they’ll never pay the price, And their reward is worth their sacrifice.
Each step they take, a perilous stride, In this sinister tango of give and take, A dangerous dance where unspoken yet known secrets hide, As they gamble on illusions, their souls at stake.
But the reward is ever so pleasing, So they journey along their dangerous path, In the pursuit of what’s worth seizing, Ignoring the possibility of losing it all.
Such is a gambler’s life, A world of deceit and hidden strife, But the gambler will have it no other way, For the thrill eases the pain.