It’s All a Game Over Here
A Poem of Polarization
By Jane Tawel
For the Hopeful and Hopeless both here and there.
“Flat Flags” by Paulo Capdeville licensed under CC by NC-ND-4.0
It’s all a game about winning,
Over here on this side of the pond.
And I wonder if you,
On that side of the blue,
(Whether you call it “mundo” or “monde”),
Have been led to believe
It’s alright to deceive,
Or if you, like I do, feel quite conned?
We’ve decided that athletes are all gods.
We treat senators like they are kings.
The fools entertain us,
While corporate crooks rein us.
Heaven’s reign’s in the void,
With Earth’s greed on steroids;
And the preachers’ idolatry pains us.
I wonder if there you feel hopeless;
As I sometimes do under my flag?
Or do you feel the same onus,
To try not to vomit or gag?
If we’re going to make this world different,
To not play the game,
To swallow our pride,
to not aim for fame;
then it’s time to decide.
We can’t keep on ignoring life’s current,
Will we bet on the horses
Who keep Caesar’s stable?
Or invite all the needy
To dine at our tables?
I wonder if you too, can’t pledge to your flag,
When the world just keeps filling with more body bags?
I wonder if you’re tired of games that destroy,
The planet for Future’s small girls, beasts, and boys?
I wonder if over there, over the sea,
If you too would rather be choosing, with me,
Some new games, and new roles, and new consequences,
And a way to build more homes, not more cement fences.
Over here I want new ways of seeing each other,
Not on teams, but as families, like sisters and brothers.
Over here, it’s all rah-rah, and yay-yay for teams,
But I’m hoping that we who still dream greater dreams,
Won’t care about winning or losing and such,
Because in the end, games won’t matter that much.
When The Augurs regain
What the childish teams drained,
And the new world has gained, what’s now lost;
All those who bought and sold.
will lose all, to those bold
Enough to live for only soul-stuff.
And when those never picked
by the tricksters and slick,
those who captained the teams in first-class;
then the first shall be last
and all teams will have passed,
and the last, to the top will be flipped.
When Three only remain,
With Love ruling again,
With no flags left to fly
Then I hope you and I
Will no longer, ask, “Why?”
But instead hand in hand,
We will make a new land,
where the meek all are owners.
No more hungry. No loners.
We will all share our dreams
Without hate or extremes.
For those old teams, you ask?
It’s Game Over.