Playing a game
By living our lives
Not knowing that life
In the end is a game
Nothing to gain
We still do our best
If they must, some pretend
That it’s all a test
Or detest what we’re given
This sentient gift
A present to open
To become and to drift
Each choice that we make
Each enemy, friend
Will decide what awaits
When the game nears its end
A Life in Poems 