Poems · Poemvember 2018 · poetry


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“The Pretenders”

One rainy Saturday,

Somewhere in the hustle of my youth,

I flipped a Stratego game board over,

Because, I wasn’t winning.

Life has developed into a series of flipped boards.

There is a sadness in that, for me.

It is hard to find joy in the little things,

When you expect to win the jackpot on every draw.

Others, figure you out, and act accordingly.

It is much easier to get along with others, when you pretend that you don’t mind that they don’t listen to your unsolicited advice.

A dead voice.

Experience, not valued.

Who needs them?

But, it’s a lonely way to exist in these parts.

Park benches collect discarded folks.

Especially, those searching for the truth needle in a hollowed out haystack.

You think it would be easy.

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