When is it time to lay down arms,
Step off the battlefield of the matrix world
Where even the rebel resistance
Pays the programmer?
When is it time to untwist the knotted mind
From months of dis-ease
And centuries of warring
On each other’s version of events
Like sibling slaves in the coliseum
So desperate for one more days survival
That we’d slay our own blood?
I look out the window
Day calls me out
“Come, we have things to do and be together! “
The clothes on the line soaked by the nights rains
Dance and dry to the notes on the breeze.
The swallows in the shed teaching their young
Don’t even know the sky is falling , because it isn’t .
What’s falling is a game .
And the players at the table have forgotten it’s a game.
Some are absolute on sticking to the rules.
Some are the most devious of cheaters.
Some try to fight the rules but want to keep playing.
The rules don’t change , just the players .
When the players die, their children take their place.
All are tired,
Minds twisted with knotted nets of thought.
Hearts shattered from all the times they didn’t win a round
Or if they did it was never enough .
Domesticated bodies sick and exhausted from being
propped up by poison treats and from never leaving the table.
The children need to answer the days calling.
The children don’t need to take our places at the table.
The children don’t need to fight a game they keep on playing .
They need to dance like the clothesline to the notes on the wind
They need to learn how to be in this real life place
Among the wild and free .
It’s why they came .
And we’ve been given only so much time here.
Would there be need to fight the rules
If we’re not sitting at the table ?
The game is not left easily.
The devoted players count on you being there .
But if the defector players play wise
Together they can name the day they leave
And play their way steadily to then.
I’m tired of this mad game.