The Game

I have never cared for the humanity of puzzles
The fit and finish of inspired conspiracy;
The welding of perfection from the whole of scattered bits.

To find the order from parts seems one thing,
When found in aimless walks
Alone, with a mind of geared stupidity.
To dream it another,
A lesser thing, found loose and unproven
In a thoughtful cloud of wished expectation,

If heaven is perfect,
What train do we wait for;
In what station do we wait?

As we sit and plan death slowly
And find ourselves a place in ordered growth.
Until, confused, we walk into the dark alone
And leave our bones glowing pale in the tailings of a mountain
In a sunlight, reflected by the moon.

I sit in lost opportunity
Lost in order to distract
With the complaint of being lost
To people I don’t care for.
And in this I make myself human
And bind myself to others on the wheel.

I have played the puzzle
Of both the how and when,
In tires for my car, or styles for my body,
Always knowing that I was living life
sideways, to avoid looking ahead to the end.

In fear that I would become lost again
To run free in the terrors of a German forest.

Mike Brady 2010