the game

it's a dangerous day, as days that follow
days lend harm, lend streets gone broken
oh, it's a fretful day, i need to go from
here to there, but safety is a smattering
of jumps and turns, twists and clever steps

there is no certainty, beyond my very fine
enchanted door, oak and steel, locks
bars and barriers designed with long
consideration, against the spell, against
the hex, against the stranger and his ploys

i have my charms, but is there ever safety?
potions only go so far, of course the cremes
my own ablutions, give a comfort and disguise
there are scents aplenty from the gents
across the sea, sent to a man who's gone unwise

it is a day when dreams have gone out running
through the streets in light of day
gone out with careless and ill-considered
disregard, seem unaware that only dark
can keep the ravages at bay

i once used kisses with some little fame
knew the value of a whisper, correctly timed
sang little ditties with an italian air
and with my suppers a clever wine
a gentle man in every way

but the hours have given me an ill dessert
what powder covers every bruise?
and with the dusk i find my garden
shaped by walls long gone unscaled
a perfect stage for this poor drama

it is a dangerous day, every second
has its peril, every chime its ghost
there are faces at my window, longing
gone unfilled, so i can while away
the moonlight, pick my roses in the frost

this is a garden built for lovers
who have played the game, and lost