Counters laid, last card played, final dice thrown,
Match over, time up, final whistle blown
Game packed up, set aside, for another day
Two players, now apart, gone separate ways.
She was too committed; he hardly cared
Often she played solo, few games were shared.
In the end time ran out, so did the fun
Lost cards, broken pieces, too soon it was done.
He made all the rules up; she played it straight
He lied and cheated, it was stale-mate
Lost opportunities, failed strategies
Game plan was forgotten, nothing would please
The game is now over, nobody won
Why does she sit and cry, wanting to play on?
There is a shabby box upon your shelf
Covered with dust it lies in solitude
Once, it brought you pleasure and excitement
Gratification that was undeserved.
Often you would hold it and cosset it
Your fingers tracing patterns in the grain
Creating patterns of your own liking
Seeking delectation, once again.
Gently you would lift the lid and wonder
At the beauty of the treasure held within
And yet its innate potency disarmed you
Desire dissipated, ardour waned.
How foolish you were to ignore first passions
Deep stirrings of a force beyond yourself
I am the precious treasure you discarded
I am the forgotten jewel upon your shelf.
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