Tetras

In my dreams, I see them still,
twisting, turning, and always falling
(it didn't turn dammit!)
ever so different, yet always the same
squares upon squares upon squares
cyan, reds and greens
blues, yellows and grays
five that are each four
A monument in darkness
and in a quiet flash of light
a rainbow is destroyed
(ding... new level sir)
faster and faster, swirling and falling
till like rain they come, and with them
the intense concentration and tapping fingers
speak of a world that is harsh to those who
cannot think
(sh*t!)
quickly enough.
One moment's hesitation
and the sky comes closer,
And the pretty colours speak of
stupid convictions
and prayers to the god of red.
One more game.