Stone Cold Faces
Poem By Dave Tendell
Stone cold faces, like the features of the dead, lurk back.
From their glary eyes, reflections glimmer of red and dark black
From the beginning, everyone is dealt their share.
Although intriguing, sometimes it seems not quite so fare.
Surrounded by smoke, some search for great diamonds to make their day.
Others have it all, but throw it away.
Some are content with a house that is full.
Others maintain they have it all, but that is bull.
Like a hearty weed, in all directions greediness grows
What they hold dear, not a soul surely knows.
What is in their hand is held with the utmost care.
If to careless, they may depart shirtless-their naked backs bare.
Like mining for gold, they often chip away,
Deciding when to leave or ultimately stay.
Like the blowing of a seed, it is a competition of chance
Watch out! Some even lose their dang pants.
At this time, the “munchies” is something you do not need.
Everybody craves the “pot”, but not from a seed.
The “pot” being the winning poker chips,
And not the funny cigarette you put between your lips.