The Seeker (Circa 2008)

We start the game and make the pass,
Peruse and pursue, a one-off chance,
Till we meet the perfect keeper,
Keep on playing; he might be a seeker.
Now we know that the seeker hath found,
All that he looked for on another ground.
A playing field much different from ours,
Bloody combat that burned the hours.
There our seeker lay wounded,
Beside him, his castles grounded.
Thus our field he plays with much deliberation,
Could he be the perfect incarnation?
Keep playing; have the seeker close,
Share stories, voices and prose.
Through the looking glass dreams unravel,
The stakes get higher, hear the heart rumble.
Till we find our seeker hath found,
A dream catcher, to keep his hopes on the ground,
None of his dreams ever saw flight,
Dull in the day, morose by night,
His stories were merely words on a tapestry,
Hung out and sundried, soaked in melancholy.
The seeker had played the game from afar,
Built a wall, protected the scar.
Now we know that he never sought to find,
The game he played, of a different kind.
The seeker still plays with a wall of stone,
We retreat to the side lines and watch the warrior lone.
Tales of demise and fantasy abound,
To set into motion, a silent sound.
Keep on playing, forget the fumble,
Buy us time to watch the wall crumble.
Let those trapped dreams soar in the sky, and watch over us,
The seeker and I.

***

My reaction to this in 2011:
- I phew'd
- It feels so so strange to read your own writing from way back when.
- I can barely recollect the context of this.
- Now that I don't feel a constant state of internal struggle gagging me, what could I write about with at least a quarter of this intensity?