There Is A Game She Plays Poem by Timmy Tubbs

She will pull everything you hold dear from sacred shelves,
Leave you rummaging for the perfect words all by yourself.
The tiny pieces that keep the images ripe
Are the hardest to find
“Hey! Do you mind! ”
Her footprints still in midst
You are collecting palms down
Every tiny piece is a glass splinter needling your skin
Making every memory fresh of when
“Why are you still here! ”
She won’t waltz away
Your brain is teasing your heart
He wants to battle her cold with your warmth
But your heart whispers, “It’s okay.”
“There’s still a chance if those footprints stay.”