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Play the game – A poem

A male zombie dressed in a business suit with dried blood around his mouth stares blankly out from a crowd of other zombies.
image sourced from Pixabay (CCO)

Play The Game

They try to crawl into your lives
And whine and wheeze and spit their lies
That fall like rancid acid rain,
Destroying peace, replaced with shame.
These sycophantic nightmares breathe
Rank torpid air, that serves to feed
Their own desires, base and low,
Just how much lower can they go?
The finer points of life are lost
Fair play and honour turned to dust
For eating out their souls for gain
Mere shallow empty husks remain.
And trapped inside their rules they stay
And die a little more each day,
And soon forget they’d ever been
More than a hating, lie machine.
So pity them, they cannot see
Just how much more they could have been.
The players played, the game’s still on
It’s not a game that’s ever won.

© Cathie Tufnail

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Published inDarkPoetryPoetry - rhyme

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