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THE GAME
The broken pieces, scattered around
Are not what they were, when what they were can't be found
Point me towards infinity and all that is known
Past the highway of lost joy and all the dreams I once owned
Covered incubators deliver their proceeds to me
But their proceeds have rotten from their desire to be free
It's not necessarily a thought to remain
Question is will it ever be the same?
Will it come when I'm gone
To be misplaced again?
The broken pieces that lay scattered
Are all part of the game
The broken pieces all wish to return
Having exercised their right for no more lessons to learn
And infinity is a dreamer that holds all in her hand
A kings ransom paid out to the last man who still stands
But a drift in the rhythm, like a shift in the air
Will a reason once captured release a desire to care?
And the time we once owned
Will replace what it once knew
Up from the mantle softly
To return to the next you
And as the game finds new players
Will they know what to do?
This poetry is my own work, written for Steemit
Image Credit: Unsplash.com
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