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The Game
There once was a game that people loved to play.
But this game was intricate, elaborate, and hard to learn.
But people loved this game with all their heart.
And people understood this love of the game.
The goal was to inform and educate; enlighten and brighten; develop and learn.
But over time, the education focused on those who played.
But over time, the brightening focused on those who played.
But over time, the development was for those who played.
the game.
The game could still be taught
but yet it became harder and harder to comprehend.
So people thought, “Let us make it simple and easy. Return to old.”
But others thought, “It is better for us to have the new and intricate.”
And those who wished it simple and easy thought, “Those who wish for the
Information for themselves
Enlightenment for themselves
Learning for themselves
are those who wish to make the game harder and cut away those who would not learn.
We must make the game for all, not just those who love the most.
Let us have all people understand this love
But a love too complex…
Cannot be understood.”
Yet those who wished for the more focused, more specialized, more intricate game put forth, “We must
Learn the complexity to inform in the simplicity.
Gather all the information to acknowledge true knowledge.
To know most is to know best.
So then we can help those to understand by teaching them our ways.”
But those still who resisted saw the death.
The death of the path of the past.
Where like the leaves on the autumn trees, lose their shine and glimmer
lose their strength and vitality
fall prey to forgotten memories and dusty cellular libraries.
For those who learned the intricate game taught more, loved more, impassioned themselves more, obsessed themselves more, lived it more.
They showed all why what they do is good, great, and well.
And people listened…
And others turned away…
And some listened with one ear and turned with the other…
So what does one do?
When the path of the past is left in dusty cellular libraries?
Where the new, shiny, glimmering, and strong stand tall in the eye of the mind?
Does one quit the game?
Or does one throw himself
Into the Night? Or is it the light?
And the path to the past is the night? Or perhaps the strong and virility hides a darker shadow?
The decision is yours…
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My own personal musings about a conflict in an activity I love. I hope this poem is generic enough that it can encompass more than my own particular struggle.