Wednesday, 28 December 2011

The Monster and a Game of Chess.

You say that you are mean,
        That you are a bad person,
                  Who uses people,
                            For your own gain.
And you say this behind your clever spectacles,
And your handsome stare.
Usually facing between my shoulders, but somewhat beside my head.
Your mind is thinking of a distant person,
Who you can't quite touch.
I wish I could give you the link, but I only got in the way.
My foolish desire for you to be happy,
Led me to give you such ideals there were beyond your hand.
It is because of me that you suffered, and will suffer.
Because I am the mean person that you so think you are.
I know what it takes to be truly mean;
One must act blindly, become reckless, become foolish.
You act only with immense thought.
Even if you're actions are selfish,
They are not irrational.
You know who your friends are, and you recognise that friendship.
I don't even see the faces on the pawns I throw forward.
And then when I do,
It is often too late.
A few regrets that I burden,
Are using those who are honest and truly kind,
In a bitterly twisted game.
You have a clean and colourful path,
Even if you see only grey.
One who has painted so much anger and caused conflict,
can recognise and only admire a picture of serenity.
I touch your image for a moment,
and see that I marked the canvas.
I am decaying your wonderful gallery,
With a sickening burden of darkness.
I should leave, but I don't know anywhere else,
That burns a welcoming fire so brightly,
As you.

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