The Game
by Dr. Dorothy McCoy
The game is in danger.
Perhaps, more than a game?
A new game, this game or nothing...
The players ‘ choice...
Brown eyes brimming with anguish,
I seek the cold comfort of the bench.
I sit, a melancholy figure-- exhausted
By futile play.
Bruised and disillusioned I pass the ball
To the Restless Player.
Courage and passion can prevail.
Black jersey proclaims... Fear & Cynicism
Tepid tears bathe the floor.
Never knew...nor wanted to?
Passion clouds my view?
None so blind as...I?
Why play if not to win?
Cynicism is threadbare when we shiver in the dark.
Mourn for
Courage,
Passion,
And the game,
Mourn for us.
Poetry
Gay Love ADVICE
