Written by C. Madria Steven
Where there is magic Lingers good and bad heirs In the same middle lands Where angels and demons Lash at each other alike... Where is the true king Who delivers peace For longer than seconds Or minutes or days? Where is that as a reality? Large clocks smash down, Harshly hitting pavement, Glass shattered and glass scattered, Hours and minutes frayed and stuck, Bearing repetitions of monotones. Who has to wait still? What is waiting actively? Dark and light spirits war, Both swirling side by side, Hitting the ground nonetheless. We are all just tiny little leafs, Wondering where our safety is. We stand amid the battles, Screaming blindly And crying loudly. We want to be found, healed And kept warm and safe. But how can we do that Wielding swords or weapons And uttering words of poison?
Soft hearts are beaten down And expected to stay so sweet. But how can one start a fire With starvation and downpour? A fire can't be born unless it breathes first. Pulling in multiple directions Ever only leads to a standstill. And those who want lauding Are not great at all. In fact, they always fall short. "So what is greatness?" You ask, As if you don't know. How was I to know the dangers Lurking in every gem you offered? Anyone can throw stones That cut another's throat. Rare is the one who grows flowers amid the desert. It is obvious that the way to lose our strength Is to crow along with ravens. For they swallow their food whole And deplete their own dignity. They never end in triumph. Yet the games haunt us all, Living almost timelessly. They knock us down And keep on trodding, Regardless if we fall or rise. The only way to win the game Is to work well and secretly.