Billiards

I love playing the game of pool.
It baffles the wisest, and confounds the fool.

Though I know the game like the back of my hand,
how I miss a easy shot, I can’t understand.
I’ll run seven balls, sure as hell,
then miss on the eight for reasons I can’t tell.
Some say it’s deliberate, others say it’s a joke,
some curse their way, others light up a smoke.
I just wait for another turn to try.
I’ve learned in my years and this is no lie,
ninety percent of those who play this game
beat themselves for the reasons they blame
their misses on.  Either self, table or cue,
and knowing this gives me a edge over a few.

No one really knows and I’ve played the best,
but the thing is,  it’s always a test
 against one’s inner will.
One’s turbulent soul and ability to still
the forces that disturb, coming from outside.
The cute little waitress or the player who lied
and said, ‘he never really plays the game,’
then somewhere in the night takes all but the shame.

The game’s like water, it rises to its own level.
It’s as unpredictable as a judge and his gavel.
It can make you feel like a god, or a king on a throne.
It can take your faith leaving you empty and alone.

All and all I just have to say
the thing about this game and reason I play,
it reveals the possibility of an impeccable way.

by Dave Holloway   1997