The ‘other’ World Series

Standard

 

Where do we go when there’s no one left to blame

Sitting in box seats

Ordering beer and brats,

(He smirks) there’s no one here to play the game

 

What if only for one second of the last day

you and I fell on our swords together –

the last of those with understanding, finally

 

grasping the secrets to it all, revealing nothing to the

masses who’ve cried out in vain to the cosmos, through

eons of a timeless reckoning – wouldn’t that be romantic?

(She smirks) the whole thing sounds rather lame…

10 responses »

  1. this certainly has some layers in it. i’ve been hovering over the sword line for some time as that can definitely have some variances in the figurative. it can be two fold as to the muse and to relationships in a state of dis-repair. i’d be inclined to be believe that the “other” world series would be that of the written word. i like this alot as it makes me think. it’s just a take.

  2. Fantastic! “….you and I fell on our swords together.” Profound!! You are highly prolific, I can’t imagine how many of these poems you have. I hope you’re submitting these somewhere.

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