[ Back to Poetry
Index ]
Cupid's Sword
We all play the Game, like it or not
Some of us play for keeps, always moving
Always seeking out the next player
That they might be taken and won
Some of us play from need, only acting
When the outside breaks through our shields
Realizing we can't escape the game
We fight for our sense of self only
The combatant moves through the years
Touching all he passes for good or ill
Changing lives and worlds and dreams
Destruction and Rebuilding both
I have faced his weapon many times
Been grazed many times upon its passing
Defending as best I can
Several deep wounds, but he didn't end it
Instead, from such wounds he steps back
Looking upon his handiwork with pride
Watches the bodies crumple in pain
Washes the blood away and leaves
Survivors of his battles are many yet few
All realize on some level of sorts
They have been marked by his touch
Changed for his ways and granted much
The wounds heal as is our nature
We learn from the battles he starts
And prepare for his return with counters
But as we guard one side he strikes another
Such hard lessons to learn, but he teaches
As if he is the sole authority on the means
By which we might achieve temporary peace
Though peace a lifetime long
So when his weapon runs you through
When your heart bursts thanks to his thrust
You will hurt and wish for him to end it
But he will not--you've life yet to find...
[ Back to Poetry
Index ]
(C) 2004-2007 Walt Kneeland
|
