Game of Hearts

Oh, how I long for a day

where the game of hearts

is stayed. A pause in play,

to reflect on the ways

we failed from the start.

Look up from your pieces,

and realize their meaning:

all proxies for you. Ceaseless,

this game of mysteries,

illusions knit in tapestries,

telling bold tales and myths.

The game is fiction, a lie.

Let’s not play any longer,

besides, we’ve played wrongly.

Gather the cards and chips,

the markers and pewter ships,

fold the board, stow it

in a cedar chest, so that

when I meet you, truly,

after this Game of Hearts,

Love from Truth:

we’ll both know it.


© CGT, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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