This is a tribute poem to my Uncle, Tony L. who died of kidney failure, one day before he turned fifty.
The Devils playing a game
With your life and mine
With three dice and a knife
He’s playing his game
I die or you.
It’s left to the dice
Thrown onto ice
Slipping and sliding around on the glass table
Three different kinds of people
Goths, prepps and those insane
With everything in between
Those who are insane
Know the most about this game
They don’t kick, they don’t scream, just go along silently
Then they’re gone completely
The dice are tossed
A red number is obtained
Yours?
Mine?
We both got lucky
Don’t thirst for revenge
Cause vengeance makes you thrive
In this game…you die or I
Five…Four…One
So close yet still closer
Only…only three red numbers
And you will die
Throw the dice again and see, I don’t lie
Scream when you cry
Scream when you die
18 is the magic number
666 is the game
Get unlucky and they drop the blade
The devils laughing at you
Unable to throw your own death
Make it quick cause he doesn’t wait
Death waits on no one
Keep on screaming…it only fills the void
It’s time to die
You or I
He doesn’t lie
He drops the blade and then
Plop, your heads lopped off
That cross won’t save you when your red numbers drawn
But it’s too late, you’re already dead
The dice are you life
Take your chances and see
What’s meant to be
Don’t kick, don’t scream
Just roll the damn dice to see
How long it’s going to be
Before a loud clang makes you drop the bottle you’ve held so long
But the whiskey will be forever present on your sleeping lips
Sleep forever my uncle
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Graveyard of Memories
I've decided to start writing about bits a pieces of my life. I'm also going to place poems of mine here. While they aren't always perfect, I could use some criticism. Most of my poems come from self angst or anger, it depends on the day I wrote them
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Zan Voaga
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