Poetry: Ron Peat

Poetry: Francine Dvoracek




A game without roles...
frozen in silence.
a mirror reflection
of everyone’s souls.

I stare back...
judgement withheld.
What does it mean?
Where do I stack?

And laughter emerges
as I look at it’s faces...
and all of the meaning
it sometimes submerges.

A wonderful tool
It is what it is.
So much the making
of many a fool.

It sits without sound.
A gift full of joy?
Or a graveyard of horror
when last breath is found?