Wizarding Times

If Life Were a Game

I was sitting in class a fine dreary day
While the teacher passed out the test,
And a malicious terror on my heart did weigh
As I realized I couldn't finish the rest.

Staring blankly for minutes
Or maybe hours at most
I resolved to do some thinking:
"If life were a game that we all had to play..."
And so began my fervent daydreaming

If Life were a game, I'd play the rook—
Why be the king or the queen?
For to be stuck in the choice of power or friends,
I'd much rather be inbetween

If Life were a game, I'd play the trapdoor
And let the other mice and dice fall through.
Then revel in how lucky I was
And excuse myself with "What else could I do?"

If Life were a game, because I really do hate to lose,
I'd play on the winning side.
Then I'd feel free to do what I like
And for once in my life feel the pride.

If Life were a game, I'd get 100 percent
And never have to worry about studying.
Then maybe I could get in the best college
And finish wasting my time with dallying.

If Life were a game, I'd play the survivor
For it seems that is the true test.
Then I thought, well I've survived sixteen years
so surely I am already blessed.

Thus in a resigned type of conclusion
I returned to my own test at hand—
Wondering if I had asked the right question.
And it was then that I could finally understand:

For everything in life, there is an honorable mention.

A Tempest Tossed Dream

Once upon a time in a tempest tossed dream
I chanced upon a blinding silvery gleam;
It danced all around in front of mine eyes
'til all I could see was a bright sunrise.
I blinked once or twice and the world disappeared,
When I closed my eyes, a stranger appeared:
His hand was of bone, his head under a hood,
A staff in his hand was made of petrified ashwood.
The staff's body was blackened, the tip sharp to a point;
It was curled around a diamond, set into the joint.
When I looked in those eyes, they pierced straight to my soul
for what were they made of but smoldering ash and coal.
Its cloak billowed about although there was no breeze,
then it creaked forward with the sound of crackling leaves.
It opened its mouth and out of it came
a silver and green serpent, its skin all aflame.
It writhed on the ground and coiled round my feet—
That was when I shouted, tangled up in my sheets.
My hands had grown cold and I struggled for breath
For who had chosen to visit but the spectre of Death.