The Game

The Game

They say it's is a habit when it's repeated,
And the count reaches 21,
Well, I can tell you without being conceited,
That this habit is way past begun,
There is the curtain call, please be sitted,
Drum roll please, Choir begin to hum.

Even as it starts again, I have been here before,
I cannot resist to show my mastery of the game,
I see the invite and know not to open that door,
And yet to this stage I return again,
My intention was to let the other know,
That the invitation did not interest me, not even for the fame.

It's futile, all efforts shall go to waste,
As others watch, I draw closer even as I dance away,
Like an addict taking in just a tiny little taste,
Just to remind themselves why they worked so hard to stay away,
As the strong will is mangled into some sort of paste,
I seem to offer myself as the perfect prey.

I could have kept quiet, been like wall paper,
Maybe I would have stayed out like I thought I could,
But the need to prove my intelligence to my own preditor,
To show we were at Par, I too could pull a quick move,
Has me losing control, and I'm no longer the author,
Of the game, I play and have so much to lose.

So here I am, a player in the game,
And now I gain even more practice,
I know that afterwards, nothing will be the same,
And through repeated playing comes the mastery,
I should have turned and gone back how I came,
Instead of my exhibition that ignites but brings such misery.

So here it is, the cunning, the flattery,
Tactics that would topple Alexander the Great,
Granted, I am the master, but here's life's mockery,
As I conquer, there's little satisfaction in saying "Check-Mate".

Terida