Make a Reservation—It will be Crowded

Where can we turn when our moral uprising
Falls short of expectations?
The eyes, searching through the vapid fog
Hovering still, over the ground
That could not spare even a shadow of warmth.
I looked for you in the void—the numb wariness
And apathetic anyones—but all I found was
Myself.
If seeing is believing, and believing brings
Accurate perception—or at least the turning
Of rusty wheels—then the world must be beating
History’s dead horse with their walking sticks.
Perhaps the closest I’ll come to ivy is
A deck of cards.
But I’ve always been one for gambling
(When the stakes cannot defy my daring)
And this is, as you said, a time for risks.
Should I sacrifice myself now or
Wait for your signal? After I’m gone
Go ahead and shuffle through my
Sordid affairs. You will find many.
However, my bones will lie heavy and
Dare not shudder at your claims.
Forgive me, Father, have I sinned?
Perhaps, in Hell, we should meet for lunch.