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The Game

Greg Lanier 1962 (Atlanta, GA)

Look in the mirror and what do I see?
The picture I’m getting’s not what you perceive.

The ultimate truth is all founded on lies.
The world, as I see it, is no big surprise.

These feelings that root in my make-believe soul;
See the court jester; a man in control.

Psychosomatic? It’s all in his head?
But I never swallow the shit that I’m fed.

Illusions of grandeur, of power and fame.
The whole vicious cycle inspired by the game.

Minds of the mighty and minds of the lame
are just playing pieces; just part of the game.

Feel all the anguish. Feel all the pain.
To lose it’s to win it; just look what you’ll gain.

Time passes slowly for those who will wait.
But I wait for no one. It might be too late.

Is it a secret? A well hidden trick?
Suspect that I have it; just can’t make it stick.

Look in the mirror and I see a mole.
Retreat to the burrow if I lose control.

Do you see what I’m saying? The mole I deny!!!!
But what am I saying; a truth or a lie?

It can be so confusing; the game, as I’ve said.
Is all this mere rambling or over your head?

You can mind someone’s playing. You can play someone’s mind.
Just drop in a quarter. Who knows what you’ll find.

So here is the question; my bed has been made.
Just who is it playing…
And who’s getting played?
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Submitted by GregLanier on May 10, 2021

1:15 min read

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    "The Game" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 15 Aug. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/99597/the-game>.

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