men at the peak of sobriety
play dodgeball on the fields of war,
play chicken on the scattered wasteland of love,
and wager hookey against their own lives.
the bombs fall, some hearts break, and
none -- save the sophomorically ignorant --
are spared.

politicos at the acme of human understanding
play games with the dollar of human decency,
add deductions to their own bills,
and take copious amounts from what was never there.
others diminish, fat cats collect their wages, and
they lose -- or gain -- a term,
their farce.

boys at the apogee of idealism
play phone messages too often,
play with the blood of themselves and others,
and try their best for nothing but hope.
the ball drops, their hearts rise, and
not a one -- save the heart-charred cynics --
will learn.

lovers in the heights of passion
make plays that cannot be reversed,
strive for the shallow and incredibly deep,
and purée their own hearts,
the words indelible, their heads injured in swan-dives, and
the world -- except the one within their hearts --
ignores.