This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.
“Game”
They say this life is a game…
What are the rules?
I see too many broken hearts on good people,
like frazzled shoe laces
that
trip them
as they rush for coffee with a friend.
Waiting at the corner as another car runs a red light,
being pushed
as they try to tie their life together,
while so many others collect 200 dollars
then buy a home on Pacific avenue.
I’m tired of twisting fate’s spinner
just to move one space closer to the end of a game I didn’t know the rules to.
Poetic Form: Descort
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