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The Game

This mystery will not go unsolved,

will not destroy what has yet to be born.

With so much at stake we all must rise

and save us all from an enemy within.

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And yet, mystery is a part of life

Not in itself a destructive force.

It’s the power of collective thought

Seeking out the imagined, the real

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The clues of this conundrum tell a story

of a contest that we cannot hope to win.

No longer playing by the rules we have memorized

we must evolve and learn a new game.

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To reach inside yourself, and confront your fear

Is often easiest when approached as if a game;

Life’s ultimate challenge is yourself – always

The enemy without far easier than that within.

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The enemy within will never leave you totally

Confronting outside enemies at day, they hide

But as it’s time to sleep, you reach inside, and find

The ugly monsters that the daylight can’t abide

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Yet by dawn’s light be brave enough to slam the door

Shut on night’s turmoil, on words and foes alike.

Consciously, if only for an hour, or thirteen,

Be lucid enough to declare peace with the unsolved.

 “Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war.”

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Doves Of Peace

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A collaborative poem by *jdubqca *afcoory *MyVogonPoetry *vivchook *Brudberg *Permabloom

 

 

 

Collaborative Poem by

*JDubqca *Permabloom *MyVogonPoetry *Vivchook *Troublegummer *afcoory

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Image: Pencil drawing of girl’s head for his painting ‘The Mill’ by Edward Coley Burne-Jones 1870

ASSORTED
Remember the dreams I’ve stacked up,
my roll of meticulously assorted Life Savers?
They look back all stale and faded when I peek in
from torn wrapping; yet whole still.
There is no question we shouldn’t dream again
or find reasons for bringing us back together.
I especially remember the deep dark chocolate
and how it made the weekend whole.
I recall you saying Dark is best – because it’s bitter,
yet sweet. You said it’s like life, and dreams –
not always easy, but worth trying.
The sugar-coated confection of our love
once filled life with flavor.
Lingering sweetly on the tongue and frozen in time.
But rigid stacks of memories
the sweetness cannot yet disguise,
holes of emptiness I once ignored.
Passion infuses reality; colours imperfections.
Augments and yet deludes us.
We use our memories of our dreams for sustenance,
A gentle demolition with each taste,
So we are compelled.