The First Closed Fist

It saw the dirt.
It saw the grass.

It saw the earth.
It saw it pass.

From fields of plenty.
And rivers of gold.

To promises of nothing.
A dream grown too old.

It watched the sun rise.
It watched the sun set.

It covered it’s tired eyes.
It tried to forget.

The splendor, the majesty.
The vast freedom land.

All has disappeared.
All gone in His closed hand.


The Game – Introduction

– “Ultimately, the only power to which man should aspire is that which he exercises over himself.” – Elie Wiesel

“You said it would all turn out.”

“Well I lied.”

“You know this is your last night here, on earth that is.”

“Yes, but my work will go on.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“It will.”

“You’re awful confident for a man on the edge.”

“You’re right. If you push me one of two things will happen. Either i’ll die and it will continue without me, or I’ll survive down there and it will grow beyond your confinement.”

“It won’t grow. It ends tonight, right here.”

“Your wrong. Your all wrong. Soon you will see.”

“The time to explain yourself is over. Your time has run out. Nice try, but the little “games” that you have infected the world with will be stopped.”

The wind blew through the inventors hair, sweetly carressed his skin for the last time, and as he closed his eyes and felt the wind, really felt it, the man fell forward voluntarily.