Cards Left to Play

Rooms are always dimly lit.
A splash of light here and there,
enough to prevent stumbling
(most of the time);
but everywhere there are shadows
and a game of chance, where,
like love it is not just the cards dealt,
but the timing, the history,
and the cards left to play.

About this poem.

A poem aging, or about love later in life. But it could just as easily, with the change of one word, be a poem about politics, faith, work, life.

The photograph was taken in the Staatsburgh historic mansion, one of the Hudson River mansions from the Gilded Age.

Tom