The Game, And How To Play It... Poem by Derrick Andrews

In a placid gentle plain,
Amidst a dark curtained valley,
A tree sprouted from the dust,
Its branches, coated in silver,
Leaves of copper and gold,
Roots of steel and iron,
Grown from an unspoken seed.
A caterpillar slumps slowly towards the peaking branches,
Glances up, marveling at the possible rewards,
So he started his journey slowly, towards the treasures above.
But, the second he touched the roots the gold and silver vanished,
The path back to the roots now a brick wall,
Looking up, he realized the leaves were cloaked,
And that he must choose the branch he would go down wisely,
Many times he went down a tremendous branch,
Only to find a bronze leaf slowly withering into rust.
About halfway up, he became very weary,
But here, there were no resting spots,
No calming, softly swaying hammocks woven to two palm trees,
There was only the rough, jagged path ahead,
Jutting sharply left and right, as the branches formed.
New paths seeming appealing,
Ended in yet more rust,
His hope slowly fading,
From this wonderful tree,
But he could not stop,
The golden leaves were no longer his goal,
He now seeked the peak of the tree,
Perhaps maybe there was a soft mattress with calming music,
To soothe him into a beautiful, stress relieving slumber,
So he pushed on, eventually reaching the top,
After collecting untold amounts of rust, as well as some gold,
He slumped onto the top branch, then turned back,
Gazing downwards at the long journey he had made,
From up here he could clearly see the golden leaves,
And all the right paths he could have chosen,
But there was no turning back.
No recollecting treasures long since lost,
He could only look back and wish he took the right path,
Now, glancing ahead, he saw what his mind interpreted as a bed,
He laid upon it, and slept more peacefully than anyone that ever lived,
So peacefully in fact, that he never awoke again.