A Game Like His
With the darkness comes his touch,
and the cool wind of desire,
Oh, he knows, such wonderous ways
to make flesh burn like fire.
So able and so wise is he
as he plays my very soul,
Never ceasing, never ending,
always in control.
And when he's spent, he moves away,
emptiness fills his place,
Who would think a game like his
could sustain the human race?
Copyright © Maureen Judge | Year Posted 2010
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