The night their souls were sold

This is written about a Dream I had last night, a poker game between 4 high rollers all gone wrong. one of those classic themes of greed and murder, and for some reason I thought it would go well as a poem so here is "The night their souls were sold". Enjoy!

The whiskey kept flowing,
and the cigar smoke crowds,
one swaying light,
burning and glowing
over four ornate men in a fight
betting and bluffing
with plotting and cunning
winning then losing
"check"
"check"
"I have a straight"
his stockpile restored,
his smile of gold
he waits to collect,
turn away, turn away, reflect,
on the night their souls were sold,

wide eyes beneath their glasses,
shifting and elusive
devious and bold
their actions
enticing, inviting
and desperately cold
calculated moves,
to throw their enemy astray,
"I call",
"I raise",
"I fold",
his chips reduced,
slowly wasted and tolled,
turn away, turn away, seduced,
on the night their souls were sold,

he loosens his tie
and slumps back in his chair
defeated, conquered
and with a poisonous stare
his eyes turn red
and he jumps to his feet
a gun clenched set,
the men bound backward
feeling the heat
1 shot
2 shots
3 shots
"you fold"
all night not a hand would hold up
but 3 dead and a pocket full of gold
turn away, turn away, deceased,
on the night their souls were sold.