Leaving The Game Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Crashing sea in the warm wind
This will to live on the cliff
Her flight from life is my night
I know the loss of pleasing others
No more pretenses
No more clubs
No more gangs
Make enough money to cope

Reflections of the quiet meadow
Nothing I can do about the wars
Fried minds pushing politics, religion
Watching the news less
Gentle souls I trust
Fame is an idiot, positions masks
Bells ring along the cove
Your hand in mine

Leaving the game for good