From: sienna@yabbs
To: all@yabbs
Subject: The Game
Date: Tue Jul 26 00:28:23 1994
THE GAME
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It's too late for prevention to start with the cure,
You used to be so innocent, you used to be so pure.
But funny how time will change your ability to endure,
And subdued insinuations drown your dream to be secure.

Then pain and fear surround you, and with their taunts they bruise,
They lead you by the hand, and then unmercifully accuse.
They dazzle you with speeches of amazing eloquence,
They dance all around you, and steal your innocence.

They trick you every time, and yet speak to you of love,
They spit upon your face, yet hold their hands to heaven above.
They say to be like them you must learn to walk the earth,
You must feel every pain, and you must die a fiery birth.

You don't deserve to live unless you learn to play the game,
You, too, must hurt with words and dance around the empty flame.
And once that starts to happen, you become a mindless slave,
With one hand in the fire, and one foot in the grave.

Dance freely while you can and then learn to bury hope,
They know you want to hang yourself, they offer you the rope.
You looked to them for love and found hatred in disguise,
They laugh at your pleas for mercy, they taunt you with more lies.

And as you near the end of it all and begin to clear the stage,
You see the way you lived your life inside a tiny cage.
And while your dying heart gives in to total mortal fear,
Your only course of action suddenlt becomes so clear.
"THERE ISN'T ANY ROOM FOR THE UNFORGIVEN HERE."



This peom pretty much says how I feel about hypocrisy...I used the church 
for two reasons, one very personal, and the other being that it makes an 
easy target.

This poem is dedicated to Donna and Johnny Goldsberry. Only they know the 
influence they have had upon my life.

Enjoi,

Dee