deepundergroundpoetry.com
Life, the game...
The field is vast, the rules are strict
and the players many. The periods are three
and the clock is running. Young, middle
and old, defined by time but displayed
by role. The short game is played by the young.
They move quickly, their field is small but their
time is long. The middle have the largest field.
Their speed of play determined by the clock.
They can change the rules to change the game
making it an exercise in chaos. Signals from
every direction without direction. The middle
swirls, without advancing toward the finish line.
The old pick up the play from the middle, try
to focus the swirl toward the finish.
As time expires all players cross the line.
Each receives his trophy of stone, chiseled
with his name.
.
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