I am too tired for this.
I feel like that old man,
Sitting in the park playing chess
By himself,
But the game is Scrabble
And I’m out of vowels.
I’m still waiting for you
To sit down and play.
I was never good at good-byes,
So I guess it’s just as well that
You never gave one.
You just scored a triple word
And then left,
And here I am pondering
What I can do with a Q and no U.
And that isn’t some analogy,
But a fact of life –
There’s just a bunch of scattered pieces here,
And you’re just left to sort them
All out.
In the end,
It all spells nothing,
Just fragments of unspoken phrases
And minor achievements
That, ultimately,
Are tossed away and forgotten.
I can see why life
Is often compared to a game,
But that’s just oversimplification
And wishful thinking.
It’s more like penance,
Down on your knees praying for more time.
There’s no one listening
And you know it,
But it’s a lovely thought –
Lovely and trivial,
Lovely and pitiful.