Games

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.