A life that is mine.
But now so out of time.
Changes come, and changes go.
Oh, what I would give to return to my casino.
So unsheltered, however free.
I know I cannot alter my destany.
This humble slot machine I am–
How can they understand?
A chromed frame with colored glass
that serves as my “face.”
Contented is my soul,
and I feel no sense of desgrace.
Something seething so deeply within me.
My spirit forever quakes and forever cries.
Now it is HERE I finally realize.
My “arm” is thusly pulled down–
not in a manner of anger or scorn.
I see from out of my glass “face”–
my “paytable”–a world I can never become an intergal part.
However, we slot machines DO have hearts.
We see you come.
We see you go.
Only “I” am truly no longer here for all
of you–oh, I know!
I,…this quiet and gentle slot machine.
I merely desire something only I alone
can surely see.
Adrift back to the footlights twords my
sacred place and destany.
Back to where this glorious neon sign
rises high above the paved and glittered land.
“Las Vegas”; the “Holy City”, where
my invisible King has come to make his OWN stand.
“King of the Slot Machines”–oh, how glorious;
and how true!
But that mentioned tale, to you, cannot be true.
Matter it does not.
As people still choose to place a token
into my slot.
My reels spin after you pull down my
gleaming silver chromed “arm.”
Nothing have you gained–
to you I’ve lost charm.
You all turn and fade away.
Like a dream that was here hoping to stay.
This gentle, humble slot machine
has come to stay.
Perhaps a price “I”–or “WE”–had to pay.
To a land of no tangible return–NO!
Not to “me”–this is my home;
I am soon to break down, to pass away.
I am old now, tired out, or rarely gambled,
That litismic and gleaming goal–
the “Holy City”–“Las Vegas.”
I will return back to the eternal footlights.
The secretive and deeply spiritual Heaven
for all of we slot machines.
The casino, however to “YOU” it seems.
Lama Milkweed L. Augustine PhD