Too Late

Tired of the game,

with worries the same,

for chance is forsaken,

and hearts are still breaking.

Yet still goes life,

under stress

beneath the knife.

Cutting my flesh

Slicing my bone,

Delivering its empty dreams

into dying and polluted streams.

Oh tired am I... of the game,

for nothing

ever changes

and the trials

remain the same.

with men of dishonor

portraying O visages of honor

upon a beggars shame.

Oh Tired am I

of this liars game.

For nothing will ever change.

No, not ever...

for all is the same.

So therefore I,

In this space and time,

Concede…I retreat,

And I call this game…complete.

For weary am I

Of this fate,

As time draws back it broken bow,

And delivers unto me the final blow.

For it truly is… much too late.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004