Old beliefs wrapped
layer upon layer,
the hidden purveyor
of an age-old game.
Old news leaves
print on my hands,
smudging what’s real
in an unreal world,
where nothing is fixed
all opinions mixed,
as we all pass the parcel.
Until the silence
lands on my lap.
The beat of the music
pausing my mind
as I gently go in,
removing opinions;
discarding them
for the rubbish they are.
The repetitive blah
that fills time and space.
The make-believe stories
we tell ourselves.
The repetitive lies
of not being enough;
that life should be tough.
Living hand to hand,
hand to mouth.
Forgetting life’s a game,
a never ending play
where the one you betray
is only ever yourself.
shiny pebbles 