Friday, December 11, 2009

Sonnet LXIV

And it's the championship match when I
first realize how much I love this game,
but I have never once been forced to try
with all my heart before for their acclaim

I think I want to maybe win. The shame
would overwhelm me if I lost: I knew,
I know, I lose. And mine is all the blame
I can create; but what is there to do?

And how to try? The methods and the rules--
what are they? How to care? I know I'm cold
Is this what losers feel like? (feel like fools)
If I don't give my everything as told--

I splutter at this incoherent win
I'm not sure I'm ready to give in

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