The game

                      THE GAME


He has shaken her off of his shoulders

Like the crumbs of walnut shell,

Feeding the fallen, wounded squirrel,

Aimlessly turning around in a circle,

Tripping on the fresh trimmed branches.

In a comfort of his daily routine,

He walked slowly, between his marvelous creations of lights,

While she tried to make a revolutionary movement.

 As when the ball hits a post

In a momentum of a hope,

 To the opponent team.

The conviction for the last chance to win,

Having driven her unsuccessfully, but stubbornly.

He defeated her and used as a rag to wipe out his needs.

Like  dirt,

Like the worthless fact from the history book,

Written by the struggling writer,

Waiting for success.

The dice has rolled away,

And the game came to its end.

She donated her heart to his palm,

Tired of a rough, unfair game rules,

She pleaded to hold her life together.

He put away his judge hat,

 Crumbled the pledge of the heartache,

And toasted in the winds of the past.

He took her in his arms, gently,

 Like a fragile butterfly. 

17 thoughts on “The game

  1. Wonderful words and brush strokes, biljanazovkic! I can relate to tripping on branches or roots…just had myself a face-plant yesterday as a matter of fact! My favorite part of the poem was the first three lines…the reference to walnut crumbs, the squirrel and daily routine was priceless. Thank you for inspiring me this morning!

  2. The beginning “He has shaken her off of his shoulders” and ending with “Like a fragile butterfly” gives a very sad case. 😦

  3. Pingback: Spring! – A Saturday Poetry Post | Lyrical Anarchy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s