Claudia Krizay

Rookie - 48 Points (1/28/1956 / Washington DC)

The Game Of Life - Poem by Claudia Krizay

Games people perform in this life-
Playing Chopin’s waltz on the baby grand piano- I am a believer.
My father stood still- whip in hand.
A big black cat carrying a crimson red trunk entered my room past the midnight hour
Dumping live boa constrictors atop my bed- although I only saw soap bubbles emerge before from the gates of heaven’s past.
In my mind I still can hear Chopin’s waltz playing on our baby grand piano-
I listen to voices that aren’t even real-
My father giving orders- he was once a soldier.
My mother’s negligence screams and
Stabs me with her cruel and toxic words-
My father passed in the springtime.
Roses and wild violets grow freely- in the back of my mind.
I never promised anybody flowers- only music-
Games that people play are what life is all about-
My thoughts are spinning out of control-as are Saturn’s rings.
Our baby grand piano is out of tune-
I do not care- I sing an opera solo-off key though gently-
The wind is blowing outside at hurricane strength-
The power just went out.
I am in the dark- as I dream, and I dream-
My hands are still playing the baby grand piano-
Out of tune as it may be-
The back door to my mind’s prison is locked-
Life is a gamble- my thoughts have spun out of control-
I dance the tango in the woodlands where
Oak trees and evergreens have fallen-
But I foresee no moonlight-
I gave my father no flowers;
I play him Chopin’s waltz on the baby grand piano-
I know he can hear as souls never die-
I can listen to my dreams –
I hear my father’s orders and my mother’s wrathful vengeance-
I never promised them flowers and
They never promised me the world- I was invisible-in the eyes of millions-
I hear angry voices echo about- nature’s bounty-
Life is a venture, but
My soul shall reap its reward
Before hell’s brush fire is extinguished-
Can you hear the music playing and
The lonesome screaming of the deceased?
I can only hear a neighboring car alarm sounding as too many days have passed since
the doorbell sounded and fog has lifted-
Rain is falling into a bloodbath. –
Where extraterrestrials are inclined to exist-
I am a believer…my soul shall live on.
Can you hear the calling of the wilderness?
Only where mountains meet with the horizon and
I keep on searching for rainbows in a fleeting moment?

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 11, 2011

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