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The Prize

written by: Sheri M. Stewart


Why must we play this game?
Does it not always end the same?

We have played it before.
Must we even this score?

Two hearts battered, bruised and trapped,
awaiting the next round tired and sapped.

Tied by chains of family and need
Neither will stop, neither will cede.

I see you and you see me
and a little beyond what might be.

I know it a cruel illusion,
agreed upon by mutual delusion.

But tell me dear what happens when,
one gives up.  What happens then?

In past the stakes they rise, the battle real.
If one shows weakness, attack with zeal.

But as I sit back and survey the field,
see the ruin, rubble and blood, I yield.

You see as from each other chunks we tore,
we were spoiling the prize we were fighting for.

So off I walk with tear filled eyes,
Not for you, but to preserve the prize.

Sheri M. Stewart

Sheri M. Stewart

I am interested in and fascinated by so many things in the world around me. I am a dreamer and a lover. I endure great pain and sadness. I am bi-polar. I have learned to embrace the many facets of who I am. I chose to view my illness as just another part of what makes me unique. I write as a form of self-expression and art. I share in the hopes that others can identify with my writing and know they are not alone.
Sheri M. Stewart

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