In the magic blue twilight,
running among fireflies,
we were just playing.
First I wasn’t “it.”
He chased me; I ran:
the thrill of pursuit,
being caught, being TOUCHED!
And then I was “it.”
In the blazing white midday,
the other boys shunned Me.
I tried to get closer,
but They shied away,
cause they knew I was It.
I said, “I won’t tag You,
I want to be with You.”
But I was an it – and Someone saw IT.
Then something changed. . .
They were now chasing Me – no – chasing It.
(That’s not the way the game should be played!)
They wanted to see IT, wanted to touch IT,
How long is IT? Show me! How big does IT get?
And I was not there anymore – nothing but IT,
not Me, not Lee – i was just IT.
My body, my mind, and even my spirit
were merely appendages of monstrous IT.
In the murky black darkness,
no one is playing,
no one is chasing; they’ve all gone home.
But i still feel like I’m just an it.
I’m still evading, I am still hiding,
though no one is seeking Me anymore.
(But that is not how you’re supposed to play!)
I don’t want to do this any longer.
In the gentle grey dawning,
light softly rising,
I’m calling back Me
from the mud, from the dirt.
I’m still here - and I quit.
I no longer care what They say or do,
I don’t care what they call Me -
I’m no longer It!
Edited by traveler (08/05/12 10:16 AM)
A man talking sense to himself is no madder than a man talking nonsense to not himself.
Or just as mad.
So there you are.
Stark raving sane.
- Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead