The Game

The Game

A Poem by Chilson, Joshua

A poem about the game, play well little ones as the bridges are burning quick.


 Man is ignorant,

feeble in mind,

two headed,

behaviors unjustified.


 His ruse love,

perfectly content,

in carving away,

hearts not his own.


 The conception,

a masterpiece,

burrowed inside passion,

leaving you victim to pleasure.


 Could it be,

the tree from which we ate,

abundantly fruitful,

be the origin of deceit.


 Birthing the serpent,

and muse,

to spin,

an ensemble of lies.

© 2011 Chilson, Joshua

Author's Note

Chilson, Joshua
Lets break the chain, deter the multitude of lies spun by wordsmiths of deceit. The game of truth begins at the fingertips of each victim.

My Review

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wordsmiths of deciet they are...

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 8 Years Ago

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Leaves one wondering and in deep thought. The game can be played on a myriad of levels. This part of the game leaves more questions than satiable answers.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 8 Years Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on November 18, 2010
Last Updated on December 20, 2011
Tags: Lies, Game, Truth, Heart, Love, Serpent, Muse
Previous Versions


Chilson, Joshua
Chilson, Joshua

St. Louis, MO

I write poetry from life experience, though most won't seem that way as I never get into specifics to the events that bring about my work. I'm a silent individual for the most part which doesn't ma.. more..