Category: Poetry
Subject: The Last Hope
He is the Ace in a deck of cards—
the last one they were holding,
the one they pressed against the palm of the world,
the one to put the blame,
if they fall into the depths of poverty,
where they bet the last gold in the ACE.
Really? To the shoulder of a man in his seventeen,
the one who still figuring out how to win?
What does it mean to be the Ace?
To be the last of a playing card,
is it a promise or a gamble?
And when they throw him away,
it is the pressure and the weight of the world,
that rest on his shoulders.
He's the last to carry it all,
a burden born of destiny and expectation.
He should be free,
free to wander, to roam,
but he's stuck here,
burdened by grown-up words,
that causes confusion,
that gives question,
what it means to run alone?
Don’t they see?
He can’t hold it all,
can’t play the hand that’s been dealt
without any of his edges breaking,
without the colors fading.
But they keep pulling him in,
playing him like he's some magic cure,
a perfect answer in a world,
that doesn’t know how to fix itself.
He doesn’t want to be the Ace up their sleeve,
the card that turns the tide when all else fades,
the one who steps in when the game is lost,
the one with no choice, but to ACE the game.
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