The Game

A poem I wrote a while back about the sort of Game I think most of us have played and the frustration it can cause not to be allowed to show your hand and see others'.

The immense fear of insanity, my dear

Has me adverse to humanity

How crystal clear the profanity, a tear

Is a tribute to the vanity

 

Letting the horrid pain entice, oh God

I cannot take your advice

However prudent and concise, to trod

On old memories will suffice

 

Have we played all our cards, sweet friend?

Will we go any extra yards?

We still have each other’s regards, to end

Will not mend any shards

 

You claim the damage is too great, my sir

Not anything such as fate

Making amends is too late, for her

Only thing left standing is hate

 

Were the feelings ever enough, good man?

Or were they just a bluff?

Did you think to confess too rough? I can

Handle the truth, I‘m tough

Author's Note

I'm Icelandic so all comments on grammar, syntax etc. are welcome. I'd also appreciate comments on the form and of course on the tone and contents.