Plans on a Chalkboard

Happiness, pain, pride and anger
coincide with my being alive
and I walk in stride with many strangers
through meadows and dark roads filled
with danger, where birds fly, toads sit
and livestock seek mangled mangers.

Coming from where thinly veiled smoke screens
surround 5 hands fitting to wager.
Three men, the second with half his body
out the door, unsure if he's ready for this stage of
his life, faking going outside to respond to a beep
on his pager. Kings, jacks, queens,
the chips are getting major,
I'd smoke with fiends if I had one in the chamber.
Yes I'd do the deed for the pay sir,
I'm dead set, stone written, immune to your erasers,
I'm steadfast on being a racer,
a grab it all and ball, clout chaser.

Death won't catch me today sir,
that's a date I have planned later
in a crowded elevator or on a plane or freight train
or an intersection on a country road
where I give up the throne to play dirt,
I'll lie with stones but not before
my final caper where I grab some
coal and shape her,
climb on her to mate her,
love, adore and hate her
and hope that when I pass, the passion
I have flashed will continue
on as more than vapour,
be more than words on paper,
be still sharper then rapiers.

I want my legacy alive, my joy,
hurt and my pride survived for
when the aliens arrive or the sun
finds it's demise, and humanity's
in gods eyes, for him to decide
if he simply cuts his ties
or continues eternal shine
in heavens where angels rise,
where harp chords replace our cries
and depth replaces size,
my hair getting gray,
nails getting thin,
and still I try, call me the scraper.