The battlefield exists in my head.
The combatants are regrouping,
re-arming for their next attack.
The home team takes comfort in what they can see;
the logical progression of familiar scenes
narrated in crisp tones with familiar dialogue
while the visitors nod with knowing smirks
And behind the scenes a chorus of naiads
suggest other worlds in their songs
If you choose to listen to this seductive siren
Be prepared for swift ascent to a world of ephemeral ecstasy
and a precipitous plunge to despair,
so my Head coach cautions.
The sirens sing not only for you
They sing for whoever is fool enough to listen to their melodies
And often their sweet harmony will take you down unintended paths
Betraying your trust for their own gratification.
The battlefield languishes
The combatants bide their time
When hope is at its highest,
when I start to utter victorious words,
they will once again take their places
brandish their cruel weapons
camouflaged in beguiling images
destroying certainty, confounding rational thought.