In the One Same Game

Saints and sinners all play in the same game,
Sometimes wild, sometimes tame,
Sometimes intriguing, sometimes lame,
But never the same as the players change,
And so does the range of play from day to day,
And no one can stay in the same spot
Though they may look like an ink blot;
Everyone must move — this way or that,
Up, down and all around — even if bound
For nowhere in particular, but somewhere,
Anywhere but where they were, that’s for sure;
And rarely can one return to where they were
Because the field never remains quite the same,
Though who could blame someone for thinking
Somewhere stays the same for some time,
But time chimes on in alteration of creation
With very little stagnation or resignation
To immutability — only a divine attribute —
Which does give credibility to the game of life
In which both saints and sinners are destined
To play both day and night, in dark and light:
In the same one game famously called life . . .
But, odd as it is, all seems to remain the same!

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