The luck and chance poems I - My Hands

My hands will take fortunes away
My hands will give fortunes away
It all lingers
On a butterfly beating its wings
As soft, as hard as a dream
The smoke spreads everywhere

A man looks at me, his face in reproach
The ideas that run through his head are easy to guess
Numbers, schemes, he does the math
He knows he'll get home a pauper
And it's all because of my hands

The night goes on, the dawn is still far away
Who knows what loose spirits
Will come out and play?
My hands keep their tired routine
Trading, dealing, hunting
Waiting for their shot
And, when it comes
They'll break you in the glimpse of an eye

Keep away
Sometimes you will be fortunate
But mostly you won't
My hands will do their job