Lying Chances

Inspired by Air Supply, 3a.m. Writers Club, and John Edward. The link to the song is below.

It is 34 years ago to the day that I lost my middle big sister, Rachel. Eight years later, my sister-in-law dragged me to see John Edward, a psychic who led the auditorium to believe he could bring us our loved ones. I was hopeful in my skepticism. Protective like any good big sister, I knew if Rachel could get to him or me, she would. She wasn’t there. I was far more upset than I should have been. I was not mad at her or her spirit; I was mad that I had fallen for the TV personality’s BS. (Like America, 2016, 2024. AT least I learned my lesson).

Flash forward 33 years and 364 days when 3 a.m. Writer’s Club prompted a poem inspired by a song lyric. I am going to see Air Supply live (even with a meet and greet!) tomorrow. “Chances” is one of my favorite songs of theirs, and I have always wanted to write from it, but didn’t know how, until, well, somewhere between last night and this morning, probably around 3:00 a.m. It all came together.

The first line of each stanza is from the song.

Click for Chances by Air Supply, read below for Lying Chances by Me:

There’s a chance you will be there
shifting the trees
holding up the clouds
dancing with the crowd 

I'd like to know the truth 
or fall from hope’s ladder
to the rocky shallows 
beneath my breath 

I’ll find it out somehow 
today, the shaman suit
with the Ponzi script
conjures spirits, promise, gold
but today doesn’t really know

The chances aren’t too strong 
the cards are falling
clubs bouncing off my skull 
spades digging up my soul
hearts pumping lies
diamonds shining in his eyes

A chance you will be there 
in a room full of despair
what if he can speak for you
what then shall I say?

How to play my role
interview the voices in your head?
ask forgiveness for my eternal solace?
in the shadow of your halo
I hope “I love you” is near enough 
I leave it up to you 

A chance you will be there 
the others found scraps
paid the price
made their peace
don’t you be too long
the magician’s bag
is out of tricks  
brow soaked in sweat
pale, shaking, faking

Something has gone wrong
if he were real
you would reach me
if you were real
he would teach me
the curtain closes 
applause rattling the cages  
of those falsely propheted
tears coat my descent 
to reality’s stream

The chances are all gone