Games of the Mind

Perhaps it is human nature to seek out hidden things?
Or is it just to reach for things unseen?
The mysteries of the mind are unsolved, and will remain as such.
Though many have tried to uncover its secrets, none will.
The mind is meant to be a maze.
Yet another of its tenacities is to serve as a field of discovery,
As to entertain the detectives of the world.
Those who seek out the imaginary problems of all but their own, 
Who piece together nonexistent nightmares, who solve endless and eternal puzzles.
The detectives stubbornly manipulate the mind games of others.
Prying apart lives is their habit, and piecing them together their hobby.
They maneuver players around the board, their best intentions at heart.
Believing the choices made throughout the game are up to only them, 
Refusal to alternatives is inevitable. 
When will they wrap their minds around the idea of a multi person game?
No game can be conquered alone, even Uno takes two.
But detectives’ eyes are blind, staring straight and never grasping the whole picture. 
The detectives’ stubborn clasp on the dice is unwavering and uninviting, 
The protective nature instilled long ago, walls built to touch the stars.
It is easier for them to play the game alone, then to force others to lose on their account.
If only they knew of the peace away from games.
The freedom immeasurable, the light finally achieved at the end of the tunnel. 
The detectives will one day come to realize the burden they bear, 
If only they would release the dice, pulling apart their petrified fingers.
The board game slipping through their palms would ease the pain of the game, 
Followed by the stinging and slicing of the cards, dropping one by one into the darkness below, 
Each card a sliver of time wasted.
Lastly, the pieces of the game, tumbling through the air.
These are the hardest to let go, their familiarity would be clung to firmly, 
But the detectives know better. 
At last, all of the pieces gliding by, the detectives’ freedom would be achieved. 
The games of others irrelevant, the comprehension of their own puzzles realized.
At last, they are able to remember the reason they became detectives.
The wonder, the discovery, the urgency of curiosity.
Perhaps freedom will teach them to fly.
This poem is about: 
My family


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