Games

The age old game is harm and help
love and hate
Puncturing wounds of the in-bloom-again rose
 hurt not
Feeling, smelling, savoring this undying life
all of its own

Sometimes affected but never eradicated
blossoming ever on
The world can\'t choke out that part of itself;
token if its beauty

 Confusing can be this world that I see
before me
But in your wake, make no mistake
 the game goes on...