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Games
Author: Mark Spencer

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When I was just a kid I would play with my friends.
The kind of games children play, where everybody wins.

When we played the game of war, and got shot down with a gun,
Those who died in battle got back up when we were done.

But these are only memories I've locked up in my mind.
In a place where children go when games get left behind.

Now I've grown to be a man with children of my own.
And I will learn more from them than I have ever known.

I'll watch them when they're playing, all the games I used to play.
The world is their playground, and it's Christmas every day.

To them there is no black or white, and everyone's the same.
I only wish their parents knew how to play that game.

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Comments on this poem/writing:

Martin Vann (67.28.91.219) -- Wednesday, January 29 2003, 08:27 pm

Some Poems Can not be defined because, there is no need.

Sometimes I find in this garden of the Poets, a poem that speaks such a simple fact, that it allows for no other interpretation. Like, if, you don't breath, you will die, that is a fact, this poem is a fact!

Thanks again Mark, you saturated this effort with KISS!
LinzAy (152.163.189.171) -- Saturday, February 8 2003, 09:10 am

KISS

what is KISS????????
Yes..i totally agree with Martin about the simple blatant message this poem sends out......
Martin Vann (65.56.172.32) -- Sunday, February 9 2003, 07:48 pm

2 LinzAy Ref : KISS

LinzAy,

Have you not heard the expression, Keep It Simple Stupid? = KISS By your comment, you seem to understand it, but never heard it, KISS that is.

MartinV
LinzAy (152.163.194.183) -- Monday, February 10 2003, 07:55 am

O!!!!!!

Hehe.....ok! it all makes sense now!! lol
Lori Ann Day (198.81.26.238) -- Saturday, February 22 2003, 01:04 am


Isn't it funny? We don't oftentimes we don't learn to play the games that truly matter.
 
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