The Game

It used to be
A game of great enjoyment—
Pieces on a board of bright colors
That moved with ease
Along the cardboard world as if
There wasn't anything wrong here.
Picked up the cards and did
The silly challenges requested.
It used to be
Great enjoyment, this game.

But somehow the rules got twisted;
The players became disgruntled.
Pieces suddenly took to the air
Flying in rampages occurring over
Another broken rule.
And now they're all on the floor.

The world is now upside down
Flipped over in a curse-filled tirade
Of disputes that were for nil.
The cute little board is now a
Twisted heap on the tabletop,
Halfway dangling along the edge.

Nobody will come back and
Pick it all up again—
People have been enraged and
Feelings have been torn.

Nobody with an angry eyesight
Will move from their bitter corner
And instead will thrash the game more
For not picking itself up from
Its disgraceful new position.
Their eyes flicker with the crimson blinks
Of rage that, in the end,
Will never be remembered.

Then there's the wounded victims
Who quietly bandage their gaping holes
Staring at their bleeding scars
With confusion and bitterness.
It was just a game, they originally thought,
But it's turned serious and
Now they're hurting.
The game now makes them wary—
Nobody willingly wants to be wounded again.
And so their worlds are bluish grey,
The color of the nasty bruises
That now belong to them.

It was meant to be a game of great fun,
A game where anyone who played
Could be a winner.
But instead the game became corrupted.
Instead everybody lost.
And so the wounded players walk away—
After such an awful round,
They're never going to play the game again.

The board gathers dust,
And the colors in the pieces fade.
But nobody cares.

It used to be a game of enjoyment.
But then the enjoyment went away.