What Game Do We Play?

Where is the muse? What game do we play? Do we have roles? Do we play for wages? Has anybody been keeping score? Is it my turn?

I follow her down to the depth of our love. The barriers are groaning against the pressure beyond. I lost track of the hours some time ago. I can’t tell which is hotter, my fever or our passion. Both bring a vision to the front of my mind. Glimpses of glory and a life unashamedly bountiful. I grasp for purchase in the flowing tide. Gasping for air before I dive back under. The roar of the storm assaulting my senses. Release from the containment my mind has built up is the prize I seek and press on toward. Breakthrough is on the horizon. My strength is nearly consumed. I’m pushing myself forward—surrendering the effort is no longer an option.

I am baking in the heat. Sun is crashing down on me. A breeze blows, but not too cool. I miss the oceanside. I miss my youth. I must try harder to take my quiet time—a time when I commune with God and my surroundings. A time when I slow down, concentrate on what flows in my head, and give my muse words she can engage with.

Words for a moment. Thoughts of the day. Sentiments finding expression. Emotions made real by recording the impressions left on my mind and spirit. Affected by memories and hurts from the past, I find release flowing like ink from a pen.

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November 26, 2022frankie0 CommentsAugust 13, 2014
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