Touch the Devil

We like to think,
we play to win,
it’s call the game,
of life, my friend.

We take our chances,
say our prayers,
we’re living for,
the demon’s dares.

Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,
are we playing the game,
or is it playing us?

Running against,
the hands of time,
endless circles,
endless rhymes.

The reasons for it,
have long been lost,
can we afford.
the price it costs?

We’d like to quit,
but it’s far too late.
We cannot change,
the winds of fate.

It’s something that,
we didn’t know,
touch the devil,
and you can’t let go.

 

 

June 1985, Gold Mine.

Categories: poem, Poetry, writing

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