Name of the Game

It’s blank
That every look of it
Is clean.
A memory drop
Can grow like vines
And time can pass
Like aging wine—slow and full
Of tipsy journey.
Life is a sour fruit
To taste first and still despise.
How I see blankness
Is so colorless
Yet, colors can decorate
The naming and shaming
Of the game called life.
I stand with a philosophical stance
I take a risk to be misunderstood
By those who never express
Themselves and fill their blankness.
I reinvent myself
And rebuilding is the name
Of the game.