Beneath a sky cracked like shattered glass,
Time runs through the veins of passing air.
A voice in the shadows keeps whispering slow:
“In the game of life, no one falls without despair.”

The world is a vast and endless playground,
And we are often “it” in the chase of hope and dream.

Each pursuit hides a phantom within the dark,
Dreams flicker like candles toyed with by twilight winds.
Every leap is a step closer to the cliff of the self,
Every breath a wager on stars that can’t be reached.

The earth spins like a wheel of fate,
Sometimes the prize is embrace; more often, wounds unnamed.
There is a flat paradise at the edge of the night,
But it is guarded by beasts sculpted from memory.

In this game, some players never make it home,
Some win, but with no one left to share their victory.
And sometimes, even as a loser, you carry the flame —
A fire not for light, but for the war that waits again.