Left over

Taste flowed from
the meal set before me.

At one point, perhaps.

Now, it's essence
has gone elsewhere,
leaving only the nourishment.

Cold foodstuff,
poorly mixing with
the drink of choice chosen.

The memory of the original
still flows through it,

still there...
still hoping...

Had heat been produced,
maybe the thoughts of the past
would have been warmer
to the core.

It's close enough...
it's close enough.

Enjoyed without regret,
as the cold days fade.

It'll only get warmer from here.

Plus/Minus Equals...

It's a numbers game.

The initial, the stats,
the weaponry...
It builds up,
gives advantage,
give the edge.

Into combat he goes,
always calculating.

The best route,
the objective,
the end game.

He bought power,
spent hour after hour
mastering feats an maneuvers.

He guides the flow of the conquest,
and is rewarded.

The king of this world.


...It's a numbers game.

The initial placement,
the natural inheritance...
It starts it all,
giving advantages,
displaying all the chances.

Into life he goes,
a blind eye to all of this.

Ignoring what could be his,
continuing down unhelpful routes,
forgetting the long haul.

He helps nothing,
wasting away seconds
holding onto his destruction.

The road has a dead end,
but he's stuck elsewhere, anyways.

The lost of this world.