It’s Only A Game
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What is the game?
is it the desire of the angels who gaze
down from the mountains?
the mortal indifference that gathers momentum
and then takes its love for granted?
men, not devils
who make willing their sacrifice,
who make willing their obstinate desire,
who burn today
what they will treasure tomorrow,
this great obsession,
this assassin of hearts,
this complicated, unpredictable, unbearable, unfeeling
beauty that craves the attention of kings
and makes them slaves,
pull down the sun,
fling the stars from their orbit,
wean the ocean from its relentless
pursuit of the moon,
this is light,
the pure source, the grace,
that which is good and shelters in
the tender seeds of infancy.
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