Games Poem by Francis Santaquilani

Games



We have these games.

I watch, you play.

It's the order of things.

As it should be.

It's always felt right.

It's good.

It's the routine.

There must always be a next game.

Winning doesn't matter.

How can it not carry on into eternity

When love is at its core?

It's what I've always wanted,

And what you've always known.

I grow cold from head to foot

When I think of the void left,

In this world

Or the next,

If the games end.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Chuck Audette 31 March 2010

Like the discomfiting questioning in this.. -c

0 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success