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'' Is A Game Being Played ''

This life we live now,
Is it real or illusion?
To gods we kowtow,
Which does cause confusion.

If there's reincarnation,
Why do numbers increase,
Is each body a station?
Awaiting release.

To where you may ask,
Is paradise a lie,
Is it all but a mask,
To help when we die.

Is hell man made,
To keep us in check,
If you don't make the grade,
Do you end up a wreck.

In the mind of the human,
There's an in-between,
Where no man or woman,
Can say that they've been.

Who put us here,
Was it aliens or gods,
As both we do fear,
With reality we're at odds.

Neither of these creatures,
Have shown their wares,
What are their features,
Could we be their heirs?

Do they watch as we kill?
That which keeps us alive,
Do they not have the will?
To help the weak thrive.

If they're our inspectors,
They are evil and mean,
Irresponsible directors,
Who do not intervene.

Civilised we claim,
Yet all we do is destroy,
Our excuses are lame,
They irk and annoy.

The intelligent being,
Is not what's portrayed,
To the genuine all seeing,

‘' Is A Game Being Played ‘'
Bri Mar
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: realisation
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Do we even exist? who can prove otherwise.
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