And so the games begin yet again –

Clarion trumpet shattering midnight silence,

Cannon fire signalling yet another casualty,

on this war-torn battleground of arteries and veins.

Another war another victor,

Another portrait to be hung.

I have my trajectory imprinted onto the back of my cerebellum;

I know where this goes.

Years of disappointment weigh bitter on my soul,

Curdle in my stomach.

Always, it has eluded me.  Always, we want what we do not have. 

Still, I spread my wings,

Head towards the amber glow,

Spellbound even as they crumble under the onslaught of the flames.

Like Prometheus, I am doomed to always have my heart torn out, devoured.

Listen. The eagles are descending.

Even as I shut my eyes,

steel myself against the pain,

pray this time will be different –

The cycle repeats itself.

I am a snake fated to always chase its own tail,

To orchestrate its own destruction.




Sloughing off the layers of my former self,

I rise from the ashes,

Spread my wings,

Each feather a red-gold tongue

Proclaiming new beginnings.

There is irony embedded even within this triumphant proclamation, however-

Like the phoenix,

Am I doomed to always make the same mistakes?