To have a will

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What is called a shield?
Why would I be oppressed by one?

For one does not know the deeds
Of a double-edged sword.

So am I in the midst of smoke.

What do we call an honor?
Is that our offsprings who must carry our legacy?

For we were never taught to create one,
But only to carry one.

What is called a path?
How do I design one at my spawn point
Before learning the journey with me?

For we were lied to—
To see the world through a race,
To compete and win,
Ceasing away the joy of existence.

What is called to exist for?

If I was really made aware
Of the games of this place,

What am I more than a random coin
Tossed on a board?

What calls itself?

The ones who know the game,
And those who know the capacity of a coin—
More than what the game rules set.

Coins were designed a role against their will
Before they were brought to life.

But existence isn’t the thing—
Rejoicing the life and breath
In spite of the role
A third person assigns to me.

What is called a game?

Of course—
Not my will.

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