Duck, Duck, Goose

Hey, the moon called asking for you
I took a message; that’s what you would do.
It saw you begging for one day
as your tears streamed into the next.
Two, three, four
you don’t start counting at one, anymore.


You change at the drop of a hat
they should give you a medal for that.
Maybe you snored
maybe you’re bored
maybe they won’t believe
the things you’ve endured.

Silence is a sound always welcome,
you’re welcome.
When all you want to do is disappear
they won’t let you,
it becomes hard to say no
you don’t know how, so you go.

and fifteen
are the greatest numbers
you’ve ever seen.

Maybe you don’t know how it feels
to sleep
because you’ve never been awake.
You see the words they said
filling your mind
a magnetic pull to the unkind.

It must be hard
being a ladder
all the time
helping others rise up
without ever seeing the top
for yourself.

There is nothing left to prove
you are the best, but
there is always a but
followed by someone better
is this good enough for you
or do you just say it is.

You sit there with your scarf
wrapped around your neck
it is made of worry
and it chokes you
and it suffocates you
and it is disguised as comfort.

We can sit and play games
with unwritten rules
be those people who
play in swimming pools
because Simon says
tag, you’re it.

Where this ends, is where it began
look at those words
they run down a hill
far away from the top
it is lonely up there
yet they circle back when the streetlights come on.

Who makes the sun shine; what makes the birds sing?
Let’s wait for the moon to ring.
You may sit in the circle of life, but beware
there are shadows on the loose
most of us are still playing
duck, duck, goose.

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20 Responses to Duck, Duck, Goose

  1. rebecak says:

    I LOVE this! Your talent never ceases to amaze me! ❤️❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. markbialczak says:

    Interesting, my friend. Good work. Some days get you, indeed.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Quinn says:

    Through the weekdays – in a flurry –
    She dashes through in no small hurry.
    She spends her mornings gently dreaming,
    And then at night she wakes up screaming.

    There you go. My poetic contribution. Poetry is like wine or modern art for me – I don’t know anything about it except whether or not I like it.

    I like this (yours, not my four-liner of waffle)!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Myka says:

    The ladder lines. Oh myyy.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. D on’t R ealize E verything A nd M iss S omething. Awesome.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Really relatable. Also, so well-written

    Liked by 1 person

  7. “Silence is a sound always welcome,
    you’re welcome.
    When all you want to do is disappear
    they won’t let you,
    it becomes hard to say no
    you don’t know how, so you go” this describes my entire life.

    Liked by 1 person

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