Games We Play
Not without trepidation,
I follow the paths of fools,
to see what gifts a lost paradise may afford,
and to flail oneself in admonished disdain,
in grappling for a balance
within an untested life.
A masochist I may be,
when knowledge tells me wary,
yet learning draws a soul to choose paths of fire,
for what they render in extremes,
and we mere mortals must taste with sensory joy,
what sight alone cannot yield.
What circles I create,
the roundabouts of repetition,
just to know that path is found,
and the low-ground passage offers no more,
just the memory of scars and pain,
that I chose to suffer just to know.
I am an enigma, an irrefutable riddle,
for all I play with a mind confused,
my own worst adversary, my very best friend,
yet such games no-one could ever praise, commend,
but this is what I do,
testing life till a modicum of wisdom shines through.
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