The Game

By Emerian

Days slide by in a fog of never ending blur.
When was it that life lost all meaning?
I remember being inspired and then tortured.
But what was the moment that made me fall?

It's strange to think of the years falling as leaves from a tree.
It's strange to think that he finally fell for me.

But as the dust clears we've yet to figure it out.

We are still lost,
We are still bound,
We are still infected by the games.

And we try to break free,
As the clock ticks at our feet.
And we try to just be,
As we hold tight to our seat.

So here we are and what to do?
We gave up our dreams for the hope of fame.

There must have been some day.
Some day when we gave into the game.
A day when we just broke.
Perhaps the day they misspelt our name.

Published in "The Best Poems and Poets of 2002" (ISBN:0-7951-5175-6) Winter 2002.
Published in "Colours Of The Heart" Feb 2004. London